


Leap Year

by nerdygaycas



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Cliche, Fluff, Gellert is a dick no surprise there, M/M, Romantic Comedy, credence is not a little ball of sadness here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-07 02:14:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8779144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdygaycas/pseuds/nerdygaycas
Summary: Credence Barebone plans to travel to Dublin, Ireland to propose marriage to his boyfriend Gellert on Leap Day, because, according to Irish tradition, a man who receives a marriage proposal on a leap day must accept it.Enter Percival Graves, irish innkeeper with a particular taste for this pretty boy. ------------------This is a Leap Year movie AU





	1. Chapter 1

Credence Barebone had the perfect life already at only twenty-five years old. He was a very successful real estate stager in NYC, financially independent and had a loving four-year relationship with his cardiologist boyfriend Gellert Grindelwald.

The only thing he was missing, or rather _they_ were missing was a place to call their own, and not a rented apartment in Washington Heights that didn’t even had its own ensuite bathroom.

That was going to change soon though.

Gellert and Credence were applying for an apartment that had just come out on the market. Located on 84th street and with breathtaking views of Central Park it was the closest thing to heaven Credence could ever hope for.

“As you know, Salem House is not offering rates very often and we have enough candidates. Why should we pick you?” – asked the woman who was interviewing them, a shabby old lady with yellow fingernails and horned-rimmed glasses.

“Well, I have always lived in New York, although I come from a very humble family. The Upper West Side has always been a dream of mine. And now… luckily, I’m in a position where I can afford it, and with someone who wants to share my dream. Our dream.” – said Credence, his excitement showing through.

“Besides, the commute will be much shorter” – added Gellert, a devilish grin on his face that lasted barely a second as he was almost immediately back on his phone.

Credence let out a nervous laugh at his boyfriend’s remark.

“Indeed. I assure you, Ma’am, you’ll find we fit all of your requirements quite well.” – for they did. The building wanted rich young people to give the place a boost of life.

Minutes later the woman smiled all crooked teeth and thanked them for their visit.

“That went well” – Credence said, his confidence deflating now that he didn’t have to put on a mask.

Gellert lifted a finger indicating him to wait until he was finished typing away at his phone. His thumbs dancing across the screen so machine-like Credence wondered if he wasn’t dating a robot.

“It went marvelous. You really outdid yourself back there. Pre-war, three rooms, doorman, swimming pool _and_ gym. Of course we’ll get it.” – and then he was back on his phone, this time sending a voice note and yelling at some poor bastard by the name of Abernathy.

Credence waited awkwardly for his boyfriend to finish while he took pictures of the building that, with buckets of luck, would become his new home.

“Sorry, angel face. Gotta run. Apparently the two other cardiologists are idiots and they need my opinion. Woman about to die and all that. Dinner at eight?” – he didn’t even wait for a reply before he was planting a quick peck on his cheek and hailing a cab.

“Uh, yeah. Sure”

Credence was used to Gellert’s busy schedule by now, dating a cardiologist wasn’t for the faint-hearted, pun intended.

On his way home he received a call from his dearest friend Tina.

“Hey, Credence! How did it go with the apartment?” – her voice cheery in his hear.

“Went fine, I guess. Gellert’s positive we’ll get it and he’s usually right so...”

“Yeah, so… “– echoed Tina. She didn’t like his boyfriend much, but then again it wasn’t like she actually had a say in whom he dated. “Wanna go out for lunch with me and Queenie? We’re on the 65th and 60 East at Daniel.”

“Sure, I’ll be there in twenty” – the line clicked off and Credence gave the driver the new address.

 

-

 

The restaurant was incredibly ostentatious, not Tina’s usual. _Must’ve chosen Queenie then,_ thought Credence.

The sisters were already at their table browsing the menu, Tina a little cross-eyed while staring at the prices while Queenie chatted away on her own.

“Oh, Credence. It’s lovely to see you. Tina told me you went apartment-hunting today.” – said the girl as he took his seat.

“Yes. 84TH West. It’s beautiful.”

“Sounds fancy” – intervened Tina from behind her menu. She wasn’t one to splurge but here she was having a glass of wine that costed about seventy-five dollars.

“It _is_ fancy, thank you very much.” – the apologetic smile on Tina’s face was enough to placate Credence’s small displeasure.

The waiter took their orders and they went back to talking, this time about Newt, Tina’s new romantic interest.

Through the course of their meal Queenie got a text from Jacob and nearly choked on a scallop to Tina’s both worry and amusement.

“You won’t believe what Jacob just sent me!” – she said after gulping down her glass of water.

“What?” – asked Tina and Credence in unison.

Queenie showed them the picture on her phone, face triumphant. “ _That_ , Mr. Barebone, is your man leaving Harry Winston with a little black bag in hand. And we all know what that means, don’t we?”

Credence’s pulse was up to a hundred beats per second, was this really happening? After four long years was Gellert finally going to propose?

“Actually we don’t, Queenie. That could mean just about anything” – countered Tina, fork raised in defense.

“Surely not _anything_ , Tini”

Tina rolled her eyes at her sister and dug into her chicken once more.

“I’m getting engaged” – blurted out Credence when things calmed down, a faux look of surprise on his face, hand clutching his chest.

He was excited and joyful and scared shitless, but the three of them clinked their glasses in celebration all the same.

 

-

 

Gellert was late for dinner. Again.

It would’ve been embarrassing if he hadn’t expected it, but so many years of being with the man taught him well.

Twenty-five minutes later he saw the mop of white-blond hair, phone on his ear as he approached the table. At least he had the courtesy of ending the call just before sitting down.

“How was work, did you save the woman?” – Credence had already ordered for them; he knew Gellert’s preference well enough.

“Of course” – replied the man with a dismissive gesture of his hand, as if to think otherwise was absolutely preposterous. – “How was the rest of your day?”

“It was fine. Had lunch with Tina and Queenie, and went over some designs to stage an apartment down in Harlem.”

Credence started describing the different ideas he had to help the apartment sell faster, from furniture, to ornaments, to even feng shui.

Gellert seemed to have his mind elsewhere, nodding along to whatever Credence said and shushing him when he grew tired of it.

“I bought you a little something” – from an inner pocket on his suit he produced a little black box.

Credence was ecstatic. This was really happening. _He_ was getting engaged, and to a cardiologist, no less.

With eager fingers he opened the box, his brows ready to lift in surprise, his mouth prepared to open in a perfect O.

“They’re cufflinks!” – his face was doing that uncomfortable thing where he couldn’t really stop smiling, his eyes fixed on the shiny little squares.

“Yes” – came Gellert’s non-committal response after a sip of martini.   

“For my shirts”

“Yes”

“Uhm, thanks. They’re beautiful” – he should be more grateful because it was a very nice present, but the idea of getting engaged still weighed heavily on his mind.

“Not as beautiful as you, angel face. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to stay through dinner, the hospital got me an earlier flight, so I gotta run if I’m gonna make it to Dublin on time.”

 _This_ he expected, that was another reason why he didn’t wait for his boyfriend to arrive to order his meal, with Gellert it was impossible to be sure of anything.

“Okay”

“See you next week, angel face. Will call you as soon as I land.”  

Credence smiled sadly at the receding figure, the vacant space already there before Gellert was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feels so good to publish something new! I saw this movie today and it was so cheesyyyy (thinking of gradence made it awesome though) but Colin's irish and I just want my ship to be happy so I'll take what I can get xD


	2. Chapter 2

According to the internet Ireland was a beautiful country with astonishing landscapes, incredible culture and also the motherland of superstition.

The one that caught Credence’s attention was all about marriage proposals. The belief was that a man couldn’t refuse when proposed to on the 29th of February. Granted, it also said that women were the ones to get on one knee and pop the question and admittedly, he was no woman, but if there was any truth in it, and if Gellert really loved him, he’d be officially engaged before the month March.

So naturally what Credence did was book the earliest flight to Dublin he could find, elevated fares be damned.

 

As he waited to board the plane he received a videocall from Tina who seemed a bit tipsy.

“Credence!” – shrilled his friend in delight.

“Hey, Tina. Have you been drinking?” – on the screen Tina was swaying her head and puffing her cheeks like a goldfish.

“Maybe” – she hiccuped – “I just had _the most_ romantic date with Newt”

Credence smiled at that - “Is that why you’re drunk?”

“Shhh, I’m _not_ drunk! Can you come over? Wanna tell you everything about it” – she was mumbling, the words blurring together.

“Sorry, Tina. I’m at the airport right now to take a flight to Dublin”

“You WHAT? Credence, why? Let Beelzebub have fun playing doctor. No, no. Even better. Dump him.” – she was giggling at her own little joke, god she must be wasted and most likely after only a drink or two. Such a lightweight.

“I’m going to propose on leap day” – he felt jittery with excitement as the words escaped his mouth.

In seven hours he’d be in charming Dublin, buying the rings and getting everything ready for the best, and hopefully, only proposal Gellert would ever receive. And accept.

The line was still silent meaning Tina was either too angry and drunk to properly express her wrath, or she’d fallen asleep.

“You, poor soul”

Angry and drunk then.

To be honest, Credence was done with her utter dislike for Gellert. _He_ wasn’t trashing Newt or any of the other boys she’d gone out with, was he?

Passengers started boarding the plane and he wasn’t in the mood for another of her passive-aggressive sermons.

“Gotta go. Call you later” –  he grabbed his carry on as he gave the stewardess his ticket.

“Nononono “- was Tina’s response, her voice a series of mewls.

“And Tina?”

“Yes, Credence?” – she said defeated.

“I love you, but you need some water”

He didn’t wait for her answer to end the call, Gellert’s bad habits rubbing off on him.

 

The flight was quiet and laid-back for the first five hours, and on the sixth there was turbulence, and quite strong it was.

_Seriously, god?_

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. It seems that we have a small storm ahead of us, so don’t panic if we have a slight turbulence. Thank you”

“Ah, that’s a fret” – said the elder man next to him.

“Excuse me, a what?”

“Here is your captain again, ladies and gentlemen. I’m terribly sorry to say I underestimated the storm just a little. We'll have to land in Cardiff, Wales, instead; since the Dublin Airport has been closed. Thanks.”

“Bit of a bollix, that geebag” – cried his neighbor, the tone of his voice quivering as speckles of spit darted out.

“A what now?” – asked Credence, genuinely confounded by the man’s words, and then the captain’s message sank in, and he was going into overdrive. – “Cardiff?! I can’t go to Cardiff! I need to get to Dublin. I need to propose!”

“Leap day, is it?” – finally something he understood from the irishman.

“Yes! I cannot go to Cardiff”

Credence knew complaining would get him nowhere, but really, what were the odds?

He kept going on about his proposing strategy, trying to hide his insecurities from the stranger, but after much talking, mostly to himself, he noticed the older man’s snores and gave up.

 

When in Cardiff he was told all flights were cancelled for the day. There was no way, as the girl behind the counter explained, that a plane would lift off without the sun having set and risen again.

And yes, bribing her was useless.

Her eyes lit up and in the lilt of her accent she asked - “Why don’t you take the ferry to Cork?”

 

“Ferryboat was canceled” – said the man who looked like he fished for a living.

“Are you kidding me? What’s wrong with this country?!”

Credence could not, for the life of him, believe his luck. Was he destined to be an eternal bachelor with no prospects of getting engaged, and scorned by his best friend, Tina, for wasting his time on the ‘wrong’ person?

“You could always take a boat” – offered the fisherman.

 

And so he did.

A rusty old little boat that, by heavenly design, hadn’t yet succumbed to the anger of the seas though with every powerful assault of the waves it seemed to disarm by an inch, or five.

The captain was a willowy middle-aged man who swore every time a wave crashed on his ship, and in consequence, swore all the time.

The sea was getting angrier by the second, rocking the flimsy vessel with such force Credence feared falling off. He was drenched in cold water, his coat ruined by salt and corrosion. If Tina saw him she’d cackle, the witch.

“Alrigh’, mate?” – shouted the captain.

Credence was clinging to a pole, too irritated and seasick to feel scared of the unrelenting storm.

“Yeah!” – he shouted. In another life, he could’ve been a fisherman, he thought proudly. He hadn’t fallen despite the ceaseless tremor of the ground.  

“We’ll dock in Dingle!” – the willowy captain swerved the wheel with expertise, veering the course of the little boat abruptly and making Credence fall.

“But I paid for Cork!” – he was lying on the floor, water swooshing everywhere around him, his hair covering his face. Pathetic.

“I’m not being funny, but you’re crazy, mate! We’re docking in Dingle”  

Credence felt like crying, it was so unfair, what had he done to deserve this punishment?

If there was a god above, he probably was friends with his mother.

 

Under the pouring rain and after the monumental ordeal Credence had gone through, Dingle shone like a beacon of crap.

It was an itty-bitty town, with no redeeming qualities other than being point A to his point B on the map. The streets were completely deserted, not even cars driving around. Maybe it was a ghost town.

Credence ran, suitcase in tow, toward the closest building with a light on. It looked like the type of place you went to die in, the wooden plate with its name engraved in swinging eerily beneath the flickering glow of a lamp.

Inside was no better than outside, what with the dim lighting and doubtful smell, but at least the roof stopped the rain and the temperature was warmer.

There were only three customers, all men advanced in their years. And there was a barman too, a handsome but seemingly ill-tempered man, who shot daggers at Credence the minute he walked in.

“Er, good evening, gentlemen. Could anyone tell me how to get to Dublin from here?”

Two of the customers erupted in laughter, the third took a long draw of his beer mug and snickered at him.

“American?” – asked customer number three.

Credence nodded annoyed, he knew Europeans weren’t very fond of those born in the new world, or so the internet said. Gellert’s busy schedule did have considerable impact on the awful lot of time he spent browsing the web.

“Credence from New York” – he said as a manner of introduction.

The three very rude, very sketchy customers guffawed again, at Credence’s disbelief. What was _wrong_ with them?

“Excuse me, can you tell me how to get to Dublin or not?”

The barman stopped drying glasses and frowned at him, his dark brows giving him a villainous edge. Credence noticed he wore an undercut, and it didn’t look terrible, in fact, it suited him.

“There are no trains or buses to Dublin from Dingle, Credence from New York” – his voice was definitely on the suave side, and the Irish accent only served to highlight the charm.

“Are you serious? Of course you’re serious.  Fuck. Is there at least a taxi service I can call, Mr.….?”

“Graves. And yes there is, number and phone to your right.” – he went right back to toweling mugs and glasses, but not before winking at him.

Credence stumbled upon a rackety table that hosted a fourth customer, more inebriated than the other three combined together, his fermented breath pungent in Credence’s nostrils.  

Four rings later somebody at the taxi service finally picked up.

“Good evening! I was wondering if I could get a taxi drive me to Dublin, please?” – never let it be said Credence Barebone wasn’t a nice person.

“It depends. Where are you?” – the voice sounded slightly similar, but it was probably the irish accent.

“Uhm…  A bar called Caolive? Caolion? Kaylee? I’m not really sure how it’s pronounced”  

 “That won’t do, sorry. But if it’s any consolation we do not take pretty American lads”

“What… what do you mean you don’t take… who are you? Listen, I need to get a taxi to Dublin before leap day” – stress was finally taking a toll on him, a tight knot in his throat, his skin chilled to the bone thanks to the downpour.

“Dublin? I fucking _hate_ Dublin. It’s a pit full of traitors, and rats and tourists. The worst of Ireland if you ask me.”

“Is there absolutely no way you’ll take me to Dublin? I’ll give you eight-hundred dollars, please” – reduced to begging on the phone… _shame on you, Barebone_.

“Still a no, darling”

Credence hung up the phone angrily, the cheap plastic resonating loudly and waking the drunkard.

He turned around and saw the barman smiling like a wolf, phone still pressed to his ear.

“You!” – he yelled, finger pointed at the man. He’d always been a little dramatic.

“Me” – replied the man calmly.

“Fuck you”

Their little drunken crowd cheered at the obscenity.

“Oh, you wish, darling”

Credence felt the tip of his ears getting warmer, his face heating up as well. He was surely blushing by now. Too many seconds had passed without him throwing a respectable comeback to salvage the situation. Ireland one, America zilch.

He sighed, tired and humiliated as he was, he wanted nothing else than sleep himself into oblivion.

“Could you at least tell me where I could get a room for the night?”

The man, Graves, said “Try Caoilfhionn, I hear the food’s great”

“And that’s where, exactly?”

Customer number one, or was it number two, exclaimed “Why, you’re in it, lad!”

The barman, now innkeeper too, offered him a seat on the bar, producing a plate of fries and sandwiches from behind the counter. His eyes unashamedly checking Credence out.

“Oh, don’t worry. I have a room for you”

Great, just… great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yess, finally some gravy for my credence!!  
> my apologies to irish readers, i meant no offense! and since it's credence's pov, well yeah


	3. Chapter 3

The same smell that dominated the bar downstairs followed Credence as he went up the staircase. Like something that’d been kept in a drawer for too long, not precisely a _bad_ smell, but not the most delightful either.

The wood groaned under his weight threatening to snap anytime. Two steps ahead the innkeeper, Graves, carried his suitcase guiding him to his room. He was about ten years older than Credence, but he could easily pass for less.

Credence was the only guest at the inn, Graves had said, so he got to use the best room, no additional charges.

The best room was rather ordinary, certainly nothing remarkable about its four grey walls and suspiciously narrow double bed. However, Credence was more than okay with it. He’d been raised between much less welcoming walls, and besides, he would only be spending one night here anyway.

No need to make a fuss about nothing.

“Here you go, Dingle’s only five-star hotel’s best suite” – said the innkeeper grinning.

“It’s very nice, thank you!” – replied Credence genuinely.

Graves looked at him with what could only be described as an are-you-serious expression, his mouth slightly ajar.

Rolling his eyes Credence said, “It really _is_ nice, or perhaps I’m biased toward any bed under a roof at this point… Also, I’m sorry for saying that earlier” – and he really was, the day’s fatigue had gotten the best of him.

“Oh, so you’re sorry for the ‘fuck you’ part or for saying my sandwich was just not that good?”

_God_ , Credence had no time for this, and he’d been so drained of his energy bantering with a stranger was a no-no, good-looking as he may be.

Credence gave him a dirty look, trying to convey irritation - “Both”

“Pity, I was really looking forward to the first one” – it was more of a joke than a forthright statement, the voice barely displaying anything but poise.

Credence laughed and realized that was the first time all day he’d enjoyed himself enough to do it.

Credence took off his soaked coat and draped it on the arm of a chair. It probably wouldn’t dry by tomorrow morning but he had packed another one just in case.

And Gellert said being overcautious would get him nowhere, sure.

“Is it really impossible for you to take me to Dublin?” – he might as well ask once more, just to be certain and start devising another strategy to get to Dublin.

“What’s it with you and Dublin?” – he didn’t sound angry, and he didn’t look angry, but Credence felt the gulf of their ages extending between them all the same. It was ridiculous and made no sense but he felt young and dumb, as Gellert once said during one of their fights.

He’d apologized later, of course, but the words still stung.

“If you must know, I’m -” - inside his pocket his phone started buzzing, Gellert’s picture appearing on the screen.

“Sorry, I need to take this”

Graves nodded and, to Credence’s amusement, bowed dramatically before taking his leave.

“Gellert?”

“Yes. Hello, angel face. Sorry about not calling, but I got busy the minute I arrived, you know how these things are” – hearing his voice was a strange comfort, like staring at one of his staged apartments, beautiful when open for sale but not so much after actually being sold.

“Yes, I know. You won’t believe what I did today” – apprehensiveness was starting to crawl in, but he thought _whatever_ ; he’d already flown across an ocean, taken a boat to fucking Dingle and had to spend the night in a shady hotel in the company of a man with a dubious name; things couldn’t go worse from here, he’d hit rock bottom.

“Lunch with Tina again, is it? Is she still dating that overweight baker?”

Dislike was a two-way street for Tina and Gellert. He had no idea when the crusades had started, but they seemed to be going on since forever.

 “Tina’s not dating a baker, that’s Queenie. And no, I did not have lunch with her, I went a quite a bit farther actually”

“How far?” – asked Gellert, his voice seductive on the speaker.

“I’ll give you two clues. One, leap. Two, day”

“You know I don’t like your games, angel face. If you’re gonna be like this… well, I have more important matters to attend to” – there was a tinge of annoyance laced in his voice.

“No, no. I’m sorry. Please don’t go, I’ve had an awful day” – so much for playing silly, he should’ve assimilated his boyfriend’s ability to overturn his mood in an instant by now.

“Can’t do. I’m going out with some peers. Rediscovering Dublin one artery at a time”

Oh, how Credence loathed those cardiology puns, they weren’t even funny!

“Get it, angel face? Artery?”

“Sure, I-“

“I’ll call you tomorrow, good night” – the line cut off, and Credence was bereft in an alien country in the middle of nowhere, in a hotel that didn’t even have a proper heating system.

Maybe Tina was right after all.    

 

 

Early morning Credence went downstairs to the bar/restaurant ready to start the day with a wholesome breakfast, though he doubted much variety was available at a place like this.

The whole place was thunderously quiet, but then he heard a sizzling noise in the kitchen area. There was no point, really, on eating at the restaurant, with only the two of them being in the building. So he went to the kitchen, pondering if he was overstepping hotel etiquette, but then again, this wasn’t _really_ a hotel.

Graves was standing by the stove, saucepan handle gripped with ease, and wearing a white apron over his clothes.

Credence cleared his throat to announce himself, but judging by Graves’ nonplussed wave the man was already aware of his presence.

“Morning, there” – he turned off the burners and began serving on the plates.

“Morning” – replied Credence, voice still groggy from sleep. He sat on a stool waiting for Graves to finish preparing their breakfast as he watched his movements enraptured.

Soon the man was placing a plate in front of Credence as well as a mug of steaming black coffee, and saying “Wakey, wakey, eggs, sausage, toast, and bakey”.

Credence shook his head and laughed. The sound coming so easy to him due to the man’s foolishness, it was an odd contrast to his grouchy façade but it made him all the more interesting to the younger man.

“That was terrible!”

“Was it? You laughed though” – there was a certain glint in his eye, but perhaps Credence was imagining things and the man was always like this with every patron that occupied the ‘best suite’; perhaps it was in his nature to be a sly Irish dandy.

Credence dug into his breakfast, simple yet flavorful, even exquisite. He made a sound of approval and gave Graves a thumbs up, too focused on chewing and tasting to speak his thoughts aloud.

After having eaten half of his share Credence spoke again.

“Better stick with the menacing flirt look” – who was he kidding, menacing or puerile the man would be able to get his way anywhere using only his charm and allure. Also his accent.

Graves broke into a smirk, full of himself apparently and flicked his tongue, “Flattery will get you only so far with me, Credence”.

Trying to get smart with an individual so well-versed in sassiness had backfired. He’d never been particularly good at ripostes; his brain wasn’t quick-witted enough for it, and yet here he was making a fool of himself. At least he was having a little fun as well.     

Graves chuckled and was about to say something else, probably something much worse as he had a vicious talent for it, but the piercing ring of the phone interjected.

It kept ringing but Graves ignored it, his cool losing its edge.

“Uh… so, Dublin” – it was worth another try. Hell, it was worth a hundred more tries since there were so many options available and he was rapidly running out of time with no one else to turn to.

The man’s lips drew a tight line, his jaw clenched tight for a split second. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that, pretty boy”

Now that was just condescending, not the words but the tone. It was bizarre to feel annoyance mingled with excitement. No, not excitement. Trepidation. Unease. Pins and… butterflies?

“I’ll remunerate you accordingly. I’ll give you… I’ll give you one grand if you take me to Dublin. Please?” – his dignity had truly stayed behind in New York.

Graves gulped down the rest of his coffee and let out a contented sigh.

“No”

He’d be stuck in Dingle forever, wouldn’t he?

The phone began its hellish ringing again and this time Graves did answer. Credence couldn’t hear much since it was in another room but what he gathered from Graves’ long pauses and sudden angry remarks, was that it wasn’t an amiable conversation.

The man returned with a frown on his face, his eyes unwavering as they lay upon Credence.

“Still up for Dublin?”

Mouth full, and eyes wide in surprise and delight, Credence nodded not caring about what had brought this change of heart on Graves. It was simply refreshing to have things go his way for once since the damn trip started, finally a sign telling him he wasn’t completely mad for this undertaking.

“Be ready in 20”

 

Okay, so Credence wasn’t the picture-perfect of punctuality, especially since the water from the shower had been so warm against his skin… maybe he wasn’t completely on schedule, but could anyone blame him?

There came a loud knock on the door, three swift reps against the wood and then it was swinging open on its hinges to reveal a fuming Graves behind. A man had no right to privacy in that god-forsaken land, not even when he was wearing little else than a pair of very black, very tight trunks.

“Oh, God!” – screamed Credence at first, bringing his hands to cover himself as best as he could.

It was as if Graves was frozen in time, except he really, _really_ wasn’t. Frozen people did not rake their eyes over you, and they certainly didn’t do so in such a flagrant fashion.

Credence wanted to throw something at the man’s head but that would entail taking his hands off his crotch and he wasn’t keen on that either. “GO AWAY!”

“I’m going, alright? No need to yell, just… gonna take your case to the car, is all” – he moved to pick up the valise but another high-pitched screech from Credence stopped him.

“I’m kinda naked here, so if you don’t mind me getting _dressed_? Just get out, get out, _get out_!”

Graves lifted his hands in surrender and retreated closing the door behind him muttering something that sounded a great like ‘no need to make a holy show, ride’.

He felt as if he’d stepped into another reality, into the life of another Credence. A Credence that traveled the world in search of adventure and had flings with strangers. It was an odd thought but after the thrill of moments before, his brain had turned to mush, if only temporarily.

_Damn you, Grindelwald. You better be worth all this crap._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting this at 4am because i have no life z.z


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for not having updated sooner T.T

Outside the inn Graves was already waiting, with his mouth turned downward in an annoyed expression, and arms crossed over his chest. He was talking with an old man, one of the customers from the night before, if Credence wasn’t wrong.

The elder man made a great deal of gestures with his hands as he spoke and in return Graves would only nod or shake his head, but his lack of enthusiasm didn’t seem rude, it was just the way he was, and locals appeared to be used to it.

Not a little embarrassed from being seen practically naked, Credence made his way toward the innkeeper, and flustered as he was he nearly tripped over a cat. After a bit of staggering, he looked up to find Graves smirking at him.

“No, you can’t go now, Percy” – was saying the old man when Credence was close enough to overhear their discussion

“You know I don’t believe in such shit, Frank” – that was the tone of a man tired of reasoning with an elder, but polite enough not to kick him off his feet.

The old man shook his head in defeat and bid Credence to side with him,

“You look like a smart lad, you wouldn’t want thirteen years of bad luck on your back now, would ya?”

Credence glanced from the corner of his eye at Graves seeking guidance, but the man simply looked like he was having the time of his life by being only an observer.

“No…?” – he replied hesitantly.

“Then you can’t go, not today! This chancer right here “– the old man said as he pointed at Graves – “thinks himself more clever than luck, but I’m telling ya’: black cat crosses your path you get thirteen years of bad luck.”   

“Frank, don’t be such a tool” – at Credence’s puzzled face he clarified, - “Same as fool”

“Oh, right” – there was certain depth to Irish colloquialism that he was having a very hard time grasping. Tool, fool, that was an easy one, and still it flew over his head.

“And, I beg your pardon, but what does the cat have to do with us leaving Dingle?” – countered Graves with simulated interest.

It was funny watching them bicker. Frank, on one side, completely invested in his arguments and defending superstition by basing his affirmations on folktales and gossip, while Graves just threw flippant remarks his way, not once really biting the hook.

“It’s Friday! You can’t start a trip on a feckin’ Friday, Percy! Aren’t you Irish?” – he, Frank, was shouting now.

“Oh, I am. Born and bred, but that doesn’t mean I’m a mental like you. Come on, New York, there’s a long way to go” – Graves gave Frank a salute and climbed inside… what used to be a car at least fifty years ago.

Credence had been so focused on the friendly banter and the way Graves’ jaw clenched when Frank said something particularly dumb, that he didn’t notice the innkeeper had been leaning on a red beat-up vehicle all the time.

“Oh, hell no. Please don’t tell me this is your car” - he knew he was being petulant but that thing looked like it could fall apart anytime, and he wasn’t spending a thousand dollars to be driven to Dublin at his own life’s expense.

“Don’t listen to him, baby. He’s just a silly American” – he was actually crooning and stroking the steering wheel, and Credence had never seen anything so ridiculous in all his years.

“You’re always serious about what you say, aren’t you?”

Graves beamed at him from the driver’s seat,

“Always. Now, hop on.”

Credence deposited his luggage in the backseat and when he sat beside Graves he realized there wasn’t enough space to properly stretch his legs. It would be a very long four-and-a-half-hour drive.

The car bounced dramatically every time the tires came in contact with a fracture on the road, which wasn’t saying much, because the way leading out of Dingle was full of them. Credence was anxious to get to Dublin and see Gellert, and be able to tell him in detail all about his misadventures, and about Graves.

Maybe not about Graves.

The trip wasn’t thoroughly unpleasant though; the scenery that unfurled before him was very nice, all clover-green hills and tall blue skies, there even were sheep and cows grazing by the side of the road, and for a five solid minutes they drove along the coast of the sapphire waters of the Irish sea.

“Why is it we’re going to that rat-infested slum again?” – asked Graves as he turned off the radio, apparently he didn’t like Drake.

Credence felt small again, too young. He didn’t want to be judged, but at the same time he was trying to break out of that victim-cycle he was trapped in; he wanted to be careless and not give a damn about what others thought of him.

“I need to get there before leap day” – was all he said.

Graves drove with only a hand, and were it a decent, not-about-to-fall-to-pieces car, he’d look sexy.; even rays of sunshine were dancing across his face while the sea breeze ruffled his hair.

“And why is _that_?” – pressed the man, emphasizing the last word with by tilting his head Credence’s way.

To hell with it. _I don’t give a crap_.

“I’m getting engaged”

Graves’ eyes went wide as saucers but not for much time.

“Engaged?” – the word sounded heavy on the innkeeper’s mouth.

“Yes”

“On leap day?”

“Yes”

“Why?” – it wasn’t said in any ill-intentioned manner, but it still hit Credence like a bat to the back of the head.

“Because… because it’s leap day, okay? People get engaged on leap day every year!” – no, that wasn’t right – “Or every four years, whatever… The thing is you can’t say no if someone proposes to you on that day; it’s a tradition, I looked it up on the internet. And before you say it, yes, I’m aware women are the ones to propose on leap day but I’m not a woman and I’m still going to propose to my boyfriend, so it must work anyway”

“So… you’re telling me… you wanna shackle your boyfriend based on a silly tradition from a country that isn’t even yours?” – both Graves’ hands were now gripping the steering wheel, and the trees were moving faster outside.

Credence’s stomach jolted at Graves’ rapidly-drawn inference.

“I think it’s beautiful”

“That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard!” – Graves was laughing now, an open, cackling sound that dissipated into the air.

Credence had had enough of this man. Of all men, Gellert included. Fuck, he was even tired of his own shit.

“Just because you don’t believe in that kind –“

But Graves interrupted him before he could finish,

“Ah, _right_. Because you totally were on Frank’s side back there” – and he was chuckling and looking at Credence as if he was an immature child. _Who’s the one cackling like a maniac, though?_

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“The cat, Credence. That little black ball of fur that nearly made you fall on your ass” – the condescension in his voice was unreal.

“That’s not even remotely the same, _Percy_ ”

Graves shot a glance full of disdain his way; if looks could kill Credence would have a rusty spear impaling him from chest to back. Probably another one stuck up less decent regions.

“Ah, I see. So you believe your boyfriend will say ‘yes’ just because it’s leap day?” – his voice was much calmer now, but it rang with that same type of pretended interest he’d use with Frank.

“I also like to think he corresponds my affections, thank you very much”

“I’m sure he does, but leap day? Really?” – he was laughing again, and Credence found it more unsettling than the man’s initial shock tinged with irritation.

“Just shut up… I’m paying you to drive, not to make fun of me” – it was as lame a comeback as it was true.

And then Graves looked at him, his eyes obscured beneath those thick brows of his, and time didn’t stop, but it certainly moved slower, and Credence could feel his heart fluttering inside his chest like an anxious little bird, and he was starting to forget what he was so mad about, and the moment reminded him of those foreign movies where there’s too much nudity and not enough dialogue, and then,

“Fuck” – said Graves, shifting the gear into neutral.

Credence blinked owlishly as if coming down from a dream.

“What?” – he asked.

“Uh… nothing. Wait inside” – Graves was out of the rackety car in an instant and lifting the hood.

Luck of the Irish they all say. _What a bunch of lies._

He checked his emails on his phone while Graves was doing… whatever he was doing, but there weren’t any interesting ones. Also, not a single text. Not from Tina. Not from Gellert.

Fat clouds gathered above them, and soon after it started to drizzle.

“Okay, I have good news and bad news” – Graves was leaning over the window frame and Credence hated the charming and poise air he gave, with his hair all wet and his fingertips faintly covered in grease.

“Good news first” – it was a trick he’d picked from Queenie. Choose good news first and nothing can’t take away those precious seconds of untarnished joy.

“You get to spend more time with me”

Credence didn’t like where this was headed,

“And the bad news is…?”

“Battery’s dead”

Of all the things that could happen this was not one he expected.

No, wait. Actually, it was.

That old beat-up car was as good as a pile of scraps, utterly unreliable as demonstrated by heavenly design. Their trip hadn’t even lasted more than half an hour, and already the pitiful vehicle had given its last breath.

As much as he was happy not to be confined in the ailing metal frame of that moving deathtrap, its breakdown also meant he was stuck in the middle of nowhere with Graves, an expensive suitcase, and a good amount of bitterness slathered all over him.

“Can’t you fix it?”

“I could, but I can’t. Not here anyway” – there was the slightest hint of an apology in his eyes, but not even that could prevent Credence from fuming.

“Are you telling me… “– he said imitating Graves’ tone – “that I’m stuck, for god knows how long, here?”

“Look on the bright side, darling. At least you’re stuck with me”

The man was infuriating. He was arrogant and conceited and he didn’t even know how to fix a broken battery.

Credence got out of the car and retrieved his bag from the backseat. Rain was pouring down angrily now, and there was no doubt in his mind he’d be sick by the next day. His immune system wasn’t the best, Gellert had told him.

“This is all your fault. You shouldn’t be driving a 50-year-old Lada, you know? It’s considered reckless endangerment”

Graves’ opened his mouth to retort but no words came out. Credence could see a vein in his neck bulging as the skin on his face turned a deeper shade.

“It’s a Cortina, just as old as you are and apparently fifty times wiser”

Being compared to an old car, and humiliated because of the most romantic gesture he’d ever shown, snapped the cord of patience Credence had hanged around his neck since the minute the plane started to experience turbulence.

“That’s enough. You are _fired_. I don’t want to see you ever again, and I don’t intend to give you a single cent so don’t come after me looking for money”

Credence took his suitcase and stomped off beneath the pouring rain. The water quickly sipped through his clothes chilling his skin but all the rage he was feeling kept him sufficiently warm. He glanced back at the Cortina and saw Graves inside the car, sitting on the right side staring at his figure with calm stoicism.

Had Credence thought things through he would’ve waited inside the car until it ceased to rain but the sole idea of being cramped with someone who belittled him next to a twenty-year-old piece of machinery was too much to bear.

Distracted in his own ruminations as he was, Credence didn’t notice the sizeable pothole that lay in front of him and his right foot fell right in, twisting awkwardly in the process and sending his body forward over the suitcase, and chin grazing the asphalt.

If he stayed on the ground long enough, maybe, just maybe, Graves would believe he’d vanish off to Dublin and he wouldn’t have to deal with yet another strike of humiliation. So he stayed there glued to the floor, unable to move even if he wanted to.

“Couldn’t go without making a big exit, huh?” – Graves was kneeling at his side, his voice gentle despite his cool words.

Arms circled his waist and suddenly he was being cajoled to his feet by the other man,

“Are you hurt?”

Credence felt like crying. It just wasn’t fair to come all this way only to literally fall in the arms of a handsome stranger that wasn’t his soon-to-be fiancé, and that generally wasn’t a good person, except he totally was.

“You’re bleeding” – said Graves matter-of-factly.

To be honest, he wasn’t _really_ bleeding. There were some scrapes on his hands and a tiny one on his chin, but there was no blood gushing out, so it wasn’t bleeding per se.

“It’s nothing”

“Can you walk?”

Graves held him by his waist but Credence faltered when he tried to give some steps on his own, his right knee bent disgracefully; and he couldn’t keep from wincing in pain,

“Uhm, yes?”

Graves gave him a stern look and the hand around his waist tightened.

“Let’s get back in the car, shall we?”

It was raining cats and dogs from the sky, both his ankle and knee had decided to give up on him, hundreds of miles stretched ahead all the way to Dublin, he was cold to the bone, and yet he couldn’t be rational. Not about that little red car. Besides he didn’t want to wait around for the rain to stop next to Graves.

“No. I’m going to Dublin”

He heard Graves exhaling in frustration, the fall of his chest so close to his own body.

“You can’t even walk. Now, come on”

He began to walk in the direction of the car, and Credence tried to tear himself from the man’s embrace,

“I told you. I’m. Going. To Dublin.”

The case fell from Graves’ hand as Credence tried to push him away.

“For fuck’s sake! Fine! We’re going to Dublin” – and then the strangest thing happened, which was saying a lot considering all the crap he’d been through before the clock chimed twelve: Graves with his knees slightly bent and leaned forward as he said smugly,

“Up you go”

Credence was blushing furiously at the insinuation. He wasn’t a child, he really wasn’t, and he wouldn’t just piggyback-ride him just because he asked so nicely.

“Come on, we haven’t got all day and the rain’s getting worse”

Pondering his very limited options Credence complied and draped his body over Graves’ back. It was so awkward straddling him from behind and wrapping his arms around his neck while trying to make himself weigh less. It was oddly sexual too. Not a lot, but still.

“What about my bag?” – he asked assessing the black lump.

“You could leave it in the car. I can come fetch it later” – Graves offered.

“Oh. Okay then”

Credence couldn’t believe what was happening. If the whole universe orchestrated against him, it wouldn’t have designed a better punishment; his present situation defied all odds.

“Maybe Frank was right” – he admitted, mainly to fill the void of strangled silence that enfolded them.

“I wouldn’t call this bad luck, sprained ankle included.”

“Well, having you here certainly facilitates things”

“I should hope so. Even if you’re pretty, you’re not light as a feather, you know”

“Hey!” – he wanted to return the compliment/insult, but Graves was being incredibly kind by not abandoning him in the rain with a swollen ankle, and literally carrying him wherever he wanted even when he could’ve just stayed in his car and returned to Dingle, letting Credence become the funny memory of a foreign spoiled brat; so he said nothing.

Being carried on another person’s back was rather nice, perhaps not for Graves, but from where he was the view was pretty good. Besides, the rhythmic stride of the body beneath him was hypnotic. Graves’ breathing was now labored but out of courtesy Credence made no comment about it.

 “About that thing with the car…” – Graves said, leaving the words hanging.

“The battery?” – guessed Credence.

“Not that, the other thing. I didn’t mean it, but it caught me by surprise. Leap day… hadn’t heard about that thing in a while, is all”

Credence wished he could see his face and check if his expressions matched the apologetic inflexion of his voice.

“It’s fine.”

Under darkened skies they walked, or rather Graves walked, for about twenty minutes until they reached a town called Camp and headed for the nearest open establishment, which turned out to be a shady restaurant.

Maybe all places in Ireland were a bit shady.

Out on the threshold Graves lowered Credence to the floor and opened the door for him; Credence felt foolish and flattered and a great deal more, but he was also in dire need of warmth and a meal, so he went inside with trembling step, and aided by Graves they made their way to a booth.

A plump lady in her mid-forties approached their table and handed them a pair of menus, eyeing them, brows knitted in a frown. Credence noticed the mole on her cheek strongly resembled a dog tick and suppressed a smile as stared at the options displayed on the greasy plasticized cardboard.

Both ordered stew and soda bread, and made little conversation while they waited. Soon after the waitress returned, still with a mean look on her face and practically threw their plates on the table without even offering them something to drink, so Graves had to go directly to the bar to order, leaving Credence alone and feeling scrutinized by the old hag-like woman.

When Graves returned they made idle chat as they ate, not really saying much but exchanging words and glances and laughs all the same. The innkeeper was showing a side of him Credence suspected not everyone got to see; his jokes were sardonic but they weren’t as dry and impassive as they’d been at the inn. But most likely it was only a figment of his imagination.

It was still raining heavily outside so they silently agreed to lounge a little longer at the restaurant.

Credence was happy, despite the pain in his ankle and his knee; it was nice to have someone to talk to that wasn’t wired to his phone.

“So, tell me about this man of yours. Is he cuter than me?”

At that Credence almost spit his drink. Graves had a way to deliver coquetry in a very laid-back manner.

“Uh, yes? I mean, I love him”

Graves took another sip of his beer and stared at him with dark eyes that lingered for a split second on Credence’s lips.

“That’s not what I ask” – he said, his voice a drawled out raspy sound.

Credence felt heat rushing from his neck and creeping up his face, and he reproached the responsiveness of his body to Graves’ words. There was nothing inherently incriminating in being flattered but the flattery wasn’t the problem, no. He was okay with it, had been complimented and hit on on various occasions by different people, but it was different with Graves. Because he wasn’t supposed to be likeable, he was just an Irish stranger that agreed to take him to Dublin to…

Right, the butterflies-in-stomach feeling wasn’t okay because he was supposed to propose to another man in two days.

“He’s a cardiologist” – those words always came out at inappropriate times but Credence was proud of Gellert, and he wanted everyone to know how intelligent and skilled his boyfriend was. Really. That’s all he wanted.

Graves lifted one brow and with sarcasm on his lips said,

“Impressive”

The waitress came over to refill their glasses and threw a particularly nasty look at Credence when he thanked her. He didn’t want to make a scene but her accosting glares were bordering on the ridiculous. He almost missed the flinch of Graves’ lip, but then the Irishman was looking up at the woman and saying,

“No reason to be so rude with the lad, is there?”

“Excuse me?” – spat back the woman.

“You heard me… Fiona” – he said glancing the tag pinned to her shirt - “Nasty attitude like that will only drive away your customers.”

Credence was shocked and embarrassed that someone would quarrel with a waitress for being slightly rude at _him_. Gellert wouldn’t have noticed. Worse. He would’ve joined the fun.

The woman struggled to roll her eyes and feigned amiability, giggling and apologizing for her ill-perceived attitude. At her leave Graves’ focus reverted to Credence and he was back to feeling like a schoolboy on Valentine’s Day.

“Am I supposed to say thanks now?” – he couldn’t keep the coyness from his voice.

“I let you ride on me, of course you’re supposed to say thanks, Credence”

How could he say such things while keeping a straight face was a mystery to Credence, one he was scared to discover. He needn’t go that far, only to Dublin.

“Ha, ha” – the card of the unamused laugh was such a lame one but it was the only one left in his sleeve.

“Let’s go” – said Graves.

The rain had mostly stopped by then and they made their way to a metro station. The man behind the counter told them a last train was scheduled to pass by in four hours and they’d have to wait until then.

Credence had nothing to do and it wasn’t like he could go around town with an injured leg, so he bought a ticket anyway. Graves, on the other hand, wanted to go back to his car and bring it back to life, a miracle Credence wasn’t sure would be conceived to him; not to mention Credence’s suitcase was still back there.  

They sat on a bench at the station and Credence thought, in a couple hours he’d _finally_ be in Dublin, and he would put all this ordeal behind him, only to be talked about at dinners in his fancy Upper West side apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor credence!


	5. Chapter 5

Credence gripped the underside of the bench as Graves took his bare foot in hand and inspected his ankle, which was sufficiently swollen by now he could not press the foot on the ground without letting out an embarrassing whine; not to mention, the dull throb on his kneecap hadn’t receded yet.

“Looks bad, but you’ll live.” – was the innkeeper’s diagnosis.

He was kneeling on the floor, and his level of attentiveness was nothing but endearing; though Credence wasn’t sure if his verdict was completely reliable.

Being a countryside innkeeper meant mostly standing behind a bar serving drinks and passing over room keys to guests, yet Graves wasn’t built like just an ‘innkeeper’; he was rather athletic. Maybe he’d grown up climbing trees, and jumping off cliffs into the icy waters of the North Atlantic Ocean; maybe he’d scraped his knees and broken his bones, and had needed stitches to patch the skin up. Stitches concealed beneath the indefinite amount of layers he was wearing…

“You there?” – came the man’s voice, pulling Credence from his, more than treacherous, reverie.

“Uhm, yeah. Yes. Thank you.”

Graves rolled down the hem of Credence’s pants, and sat next to him.

The watch on his hand was leather, though very worn out over the years, Credence noticed, as the man checked the time.

The innkeeper sighed exhausted, and stood up again. Then he said,

“I should get back before someone gets handsy with my lass.”

“Ah?” – Credence said dumbfounded, still loitering a little on the feeling of Graves’ hands on his skin.

“That lovely banger you insulted a while back… The car?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure. Sorry again about that.” – he hadn’t been born into money to have made such a fuss.

Graves gave a dismissive wave of his hand - “I was just joking, Credence. I’ll see if I can get us a new battery, and bring your luggage back, okay? I’ll be back before the train comes, so don’t be getting all anxious- And _don’t move_.” – he was walking away, his voice carrying through the dingy station.

Credence waved goodbye, and felt awfully alone. Being in a grimy train station in a town called Camp, but not really pronounced Camp, and watching the only person you know walking away, can do that to you.

“And Credence?” – Graves turned around, his lips curled in that sardonic smirk that brought the word ‘dapper’ to Credence’s mind.

“Yes?” 

“Seriously, don’t move. Or I’ll carry you over the threshold.”

The man didn’t even glance back before he was gone. In the mostly empty and quiet station, Credence couldn’t be bothered to suppress the wide smile his lips drew.

“Nice gentleman you’ve got yourself there, eh?”

The voice came somewhere from behind, and Credence jerked his head over his shoulder instinctively following the sound. And lo and behold, the bench was double-sided, a comfortable and thoughtful trait for a larger number of waiting passengers, but terrible because it left room for unexpected audiences.

“Oh… I guess he is.” – what was the point in explaining to a complete stranger that Graves wasn’t _his_ nice gentleman, that he was only an innkeeper from Dingle who’d begrudgingly accepted to take Credence to Dublin despite hating the city with nonsensical fervor in exchange of a thousand dollars; all in the hopes of arriving to said city before leap day so that he, Credence, could propose to his cardiologist boyfriend, who hadn’t called him in the last twelve hours, by the way, following a tradition that deep in his heart he knew was utterly ridiculous, and was dragged all the way across the pond against his best friend’s biased advice just to fulfill the strange need of getting engaged?

No, it was better to let the man think Graves _was_ his nice gentleman.

“I dated a man like that, many years ago. He was charming and kind. And loyal too, you know? That’s difficult to come across by, these days.”

It was something that happened quite often to him. Strangers saw him and felt they could share stories, little secrets and hushed jokes with him. He never actively sought out to people, and yet they seemed to trust him.

Tina said he had a trustworthy face.

“Sounds lovely.”

“Indeed. Always gonna regret not choosing him.” – the man said as he played with an imaginary ring around his finger.

Credence had heard many stories about failed marriages, in fact, his upbringing couldn’t be farther from the ideal nuclear family. His father had abandoned his mother before he was even born, and young as she was, she saw no other way to save the baby than to give him up for adoption. From there he’d ended at the Barebone household and under the strict care of Mary Lou, that veered more toward abuse than actual care.

Still, he couldn’t let go of the idea of having a perfect family, maybe even leave the city and move to a detached home in the suburbs, with a garden and a dog - two dogs. Or maybe none. Gellert said they gave him allergies.

“What happened?” – he blurted the question after more than a minute had passed.

The man must’ve believed himself ignored by the rude American.

_Way to uphold the stereotype._

“Life, you know? I was younger than you at the time, and I wasn’t hard to look at myself.” – the man chuckled, – “But James – his name was, _is_ James – he was more of an adventurer, you see. Wanted to travel the world. He wasn’t happy here in Camp.”

Credence felt sorry for the man. Even if he couldn’t see his face well due to their awkward position, he heard longing and regret in his false upbeat voice.

“Did he… did he leave you? James?”

“Oh, no, no! James was smitten too much with me to ever leave, no. It was me. Guess absurd vanity and a shitload of insecurity got the best of me; picked another man. One who offered security, stability, all those nice shiny things, you know?”

The _other man._ He sounded a bit like Gellert despite the slight, yet clear differences.

But Gellert _did_ love him, to a reasonable extent. An acceptable extent.

They were about to move in together, and if he was lucky, they’d get married too. And maybe then he’d break that cycle of failed loves and marriages his family was so adamant to hold on to.

“Sorry to hear that, but… you did what you thought best, didn’t you? That’s gotta count for something.”

Credence could see the man shaking his head, and in his mind this man would always be remembered as ‘the remorseful and miserable guy in the dirty train station somewhere in a place called Camp’.

Oversharing with strangers, Credence decided, was something he’d never do.

“I didn’t do what I thought was best, lad. I did what was easier.”

A folky, sort of eight-bit tune echoed loudly, disrupting their muffled conversation.

_Right, some people actually have ringtones._

He tried his best not to pry but the man was rather unrefined, speaking loudly into the handset then bringing the phone up to his ear, as if such a thing was necessary.

Apparently he worked at a chicken factory, and the hens hadn’t been packed for the slaughter-house yet. An outrage.

 “Gotta run. Don’t be dumb like me, eh? Or you’ll end up killing chickens for a living.”

What an odd encounter that had been. Almost as if the universe had tried way too hard to convince Credence not to go through with his engagement scheme.

A chicken killer with a tragic past, waiting at a train station with no reason at all to be there.

Ireland was a very strange place.

 

About an hour later, an hour of staring at the walls and counting the tiles; Graves returned with the suitcase trailing behind. There was a scowl on his face, and he didn’t brighten up when he saw Credence, even when the younger man waved more than a little enthusiastically, and then was left feeling foolish.

“’ _Too old’_. It’s not that fucking old!” – he didn’t sit, but rather flounced down on the space next to Credence, arms crossed over his chest and eyes locked straight ahead.

“What happened?”

“Went to get another battery for my lass, and the fucking clerk, the fucking gobshite of a clerk, said they didn’t have any. Can you believe that rubbish? What kind of auto store doesn’t carry fucking batteries? Highfalutin’ bastards. And that gimp from the cab, fucking double-swiped my credit card, as if I wasn’t fucking skint already!”

The words all rolled in his mouth, vowels soft and consonants loud, the r _s_ over pronounced almost comically; all tilting with stronger accent, and coming together in a very obscene sing-songy melody.

Even if he was just whining and spouting filth, he still sounded sweet in Credence’s ears.

“What are you smiling for now? I’m not acting the fucking maggot!”

And the way he said ‘for’, the inflexion of his voice when finishing the question, and the mention of the word ‘maggot’, now _that_ did wring out a laugh from Credence.

It wasn’t funny, and Graves wasn’t trying to be funny. But it was amusing to see him all fired up and spitting vulgarities with that, almost musical, curling of his words; and his voice, roughened by the accent made Credence want to shut him up with more than a hand on his mouth.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” – he gasped between chortles, his stomach aching from the hilarity.

His laughter was rapidly spiraling into an uncontrollable fit. He knew he needed to shut up but he couldn’t, and then he glanced at Graves and the man was trying for a punchline, but it never came, and just like that Graves’ was joining him too, laughing, cackling, for no reason at all.

Bellies aching and throats hoarse, and with tears gathering in Credence’s eyes, their deranged fit finally subsided.

 

Almost three more hours they had to wait for the train to arrive at the station.

Three hours they filled with much more than looking at their phone screens, which would have surely happened were Gellert with him instead of Graves.

And it was _so different_ with Graves, Credence noticed.

He didn’t need to beg for attention, or had his self-esteem knocked to the ground. There was no need to come up with elaborate stories that didn’t end up being heard anyway; instead all the words seemed to flow from his mouth and entwine with Graves’ own, and it was… wonderful, to have a conversation he hadn’t actually rehearsed in his mind beforehand, worrying it’d bore his partner.

On top of it, Graves’ interest seemed genuine when Credence told him about his job as a realtor stager, though he did say it was like cheating on potential buyers, which, in a way, it was.

Not once Credence counted the tiles on the walls.

 

The train swayed and rocked as it ran along the railroad. The sound pleasant and recurring, like a rusty lullaby, made Credence drowsy with sleep in spite of wanting to extend his conversation with Graves for hours on end, and ask why he’d insisted on going all the way to Dublin with him leaving his dear Cortina behind.

 _Frank said he’ll pick it up_ wasn’t convincing enough, at least not to Credence.

He wanted there to be another reason, an ulterior motive to Graves accompanying him, and have it not be the money.

He wanted to find all these in Graves’ words, in the tenor of his voice, the gestures of his hands and the movement of his mouth, but his eyelids were too heavy, and the subdued clack of the train over the tracks was such an alluring sound that he couldn’t keep from falling asleep.

Just before closing his eyes, when he was no longer in control of his body and the world swirled around him in a diffused mist; just then, he sensed the salty, oakwood scent of Graves’ denim jacket; his body leaning into the other man’s frame, his head finding rest on his warm shoulder.

Graves’ had stopped talking then, and had tensed up like a knot, but soon he relaxed, and the knot became only a rope tying them together.

 

The roaring blare of the train’s horn startled Credence into consciousness.

Bleary-eyed, he moved to look out of the window, but the crick in his neck made him wince.

He hadn’t been sleeping against the windowpane, instead he was still leaning on a very warm, very real, solid body that moved in compass to his own as air was breathed in and then out.

 _Shit_.

Credence flinched away from Graves, and almost immediately wished he hadn’t done so. He wanted to stay there, face almost buried in Graves’ chest.

That… wasn’t supposed to happen. Neither the falling asleep, nor the wanting to stay cradled in the man’s warmth.

This trip was slowly becoming an exercise in introspection, as opposed to the romantic, uncomplicated journey he’d expected.

He was still trying to sort out his thoughts when the innkeeper’s hand rose up to scratch his nose, and the gesture stirred him from his slumber.

Credence discovered that Graves was the type of man to rub his eyes when we woke up. He was also the type of man who seemed personally offended by the presence of any light source.

Apparently, he was also the type who tried to fall back into sleep while mumbling words under his breath.

“What was that?” – asked Credence, not having caught the words at first.

Graves shook his head, a crooked smile on his lips.

If Credence didn’t know better he’d think the man was embarrassed, 

“You snore a little when you sleep.” – his voice groggy and slurred.

Ah, but he _did_ know better.

“I do not!” – replied Credence, more vehement than he’d meant to.

Graves cocked his head and blinked owlishly; with his cheek propped on his hand and defiance sparkling in his eyes said,

“You do.”

And damn him. For looking like an adorable puppy with that mischievous glint in his eyes, and his hair all messed up looking like the textbook definition of sex hair.

Credence puffed his breath and rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance when he felt none.

 

Outside the window, green fields had been replaced by suburbs as they neared Limerick, a city much bigger than little old Dingle, and hopefully home to more restaurants and decent hotels.

“Percy Graves! Is that you?” – exclaimed the shrilling voice of a woman.

For the briefest moment, Credence felt Graves tensing up at his side.

“Yes.” – said the man through gritted teeth.

“Don’t you remember me, Percy? I used to play cards with your mother!” – the woman said, not noticing Graves’ exhale of frustration.

“My mother didn’t play cards.” – whispered Graves in Credence’s direction.

 “Hey, Donald! Donald, come here! You won’t believe who I just found!”

She talked too loud and too fast, and Graves didn’t like her much, if the flatness of his voice was any indication.

The woman took a seat across them, her eyes, vivacious crystal-blue beads, scrutinizing the innkeeper with that peculiar affection that characterizes strangers who claim cradled you in their arms when you were only a baby.

“Donald!” – she yelled again.

A man in his mid-fifties came stumbling toward them, and Credence saw as recognition dawned upon him when seeing Graves.

“The Graves boy! How nice to see you, lad! Here I thought me wife was being crazy again!” - he chuckled as his wife scooted over in their seat.

Credence sat there awkwardly for more than five minutes, not really knowing where to look at, or if he had to turn a deaf ear, or join in the conversation. Graves certainly wasn’t giving him any indicators; uptight and serious at the beginning, now he was much more at ease, allowing his sarcastic humor to come through.

“Poor lad! Must be tired of us strangers barging in and babbling on and on! We’re terribly sorry, but we hadn’t seen this one since - well, a long time has passed since we last saw him.” – said the man stumbling over his words halfway through.

Being spoken to was worse than being ignored, because it meant he actually had to… talk.

And he wasn’t good at talking. Not with strangers who possibly carried your innkeeper in arms when he was a baby.

“Oh, no, no! Don’t worry, I know him.” – he said, forcing a smile that hurt.

From under the table Graves’ hand had been carelessly resting on his knee, as if to not neglect him entirely, but then the hand squeezed, hitching Credence’s breath.

“PERCIVAL GRAVES!”  - yelled the boisterous woman.

Graves shot a quick glance Credence’s way, and suddenly the hand on his knee loosened and dropped, as if the scream had shaken sense back into him.

“Yes, Judy?” – replied the innkeeper, poise as ever.

“How could you not introduce your friend to us?! All this time talking, and… that was incredibly rude of us. Please, forgive us, love!”

Heat pricked Credence’s ears,

“No, that’s fine, really! I don’t mind just listening - not that I was… listening. I didn’t want to intrude, is all.”

“Ah, American are you?” – said Donald smashing a hand on the table.  

The loud thump made Credence jump in his seat.

“He is.” – answered Graves - “From New York. He’s a real estate stager.”

Credence could almost believe the words were uttered with pride.

The woman, Judy, looked at Graves, then at Credence, and then back and forth again.

“Oh, I see. So how long have you… you know? Being together - is that the right way to say it? I wouldn’t want to make a fool of myself, but me and Donald, here… We’re trying that open-headed thing.”

“Open-minded, darling.”

“Yes, yes, that! Open-minded!”

If he wasn’t wrong, and he hoped he was… then Judy and Donald, they thought… But he hadn’t even said more than three sentences!

The way the universe continued to mock him was getting out of hand, and honestly, quite ridiculous.

It was Graves the one to vocalize, albeit not eloquently, his bewilderment,

“What – what do you…? We’re not – No! What? “

“Oh, shush! Don’t lie to me, Percival, you know I have the nose of a bloodhound. This one here hasn’t lied thirty years! Not even about his gut problems.”

“’Tis true.”

“Now, I don’t know where you’re coming from, but I know where you’re going. Our house, right, Donald? You _have_ to stay with us, if only for supper.”

Graves said ‘no’ at the time Credence let out a tiny ‘yes’. The innkeeper had never looked more terrifying.

But the thing is, Credence didn’t want to be rude, and it was getting late anyway. The trip to Limerick had lasted almost three hours, and it was dark outside, and in all honesty, he could do with some food.

Graves squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. Steeling a smile, that was all charade, he said,

“Yes, of course. Credence here must be exhausted. First time coming to Limerick.”

“Oh, really?” – asked the woman, hospitality dripping from her voice.

“Uh, yes.”

“It’s settled then. You’re coming with us!”

 

Judy and Donald’s home was a pretty two story cottage; very postcard material, with flowers growing wildly at the entrance and vines climbing up the stone walls.

But inside, it was a raging war of décor styles, and even though it wouldn’t have the highest bids if put in the market, the cozy feeling of _home_ that flooded in the air, made Credence happier than any minimalist apartment he’d staged.

Graves helped Judy with the cooking while Credence went to take a shower. He’d wanted to help but at both Graves’ and Judy’s insistence, he was only to relax and rest his ankle,

“Percy’s _friend_ is our friend too.”

Graves beamed at Judy’s word and added,

“Sure you don’t need me to help you in the shower, _dear_?”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

 

Past the initial awkwardness, Judy and Donald were nice people. But Credence couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off between the couple and Graves.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, seeing that he was an utter stranger in their familiar midst, but there was certain stiffness in Graves’ body that simply wouldn’t go away.

After his shower, he lingered in the guest bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist; taking the chance to check his emails and texts. Still no sign from Gellert.

However, Tina _had_ texted him.

The chain of messages she’d sent included: seventeen variations of ‘don’t propose to that bastard’, five candids of Newt, all with captions like ‘isn’t he cute?’, and a seven-minute long video of a dog playing the piano.

Credence wasn’t one to look the horse in the mouth, so he took his time to reply why he _would_ propose to said bastard, agreed on Newt being a ‘smol bean’, and watched the dog play the piano for all of the seven minutes.

Youtube-obsessed as he was, he watched four more videos, all of dogs accomplishing incredible feats, and all the while smiling stupidly at the screen.

Mid-way through the fifth video, a fifteen-minute compilation of animals doing hilarious things, he realized he wasn’t actually in his own apartment, he was naked, and he was expected for dinner.

And awkward, fake-pretend conversation.

 

When he made it downstairs and into the kitchen his heart almost leaped out of his chest.

Graves was alone; engulfed by a warm yellowy haze, as he stood in front of the stove stirring a pot intently with a wooden spoon, and humming casually to the notes of a modernized celtic-like song, and then… then he began to sing,

 _“I wish you well in all of your travels  
And may you find what you're searching for” _ – he could actually hold his notes, the voice drifting in the air and right into Credence, gnawing and nibbling at his skin.

 _“It'll hit you like thunder when you find one another  
And stay in your heart forevermore” _ – Credence could hear the words and he understood them, but his brain was just short of fried; there was a tight knot in his throat and he could hear his own pulse beating like a drum to Graves’ tune.

 _“Love is like a four-leaf clover  
Hard to find and hold onto” – _ Was Graves always like this when he thought no one was watching him? Did he sing cheesy pop songs in the shower? Did he listen to music when preparing breakfast, did he play the guitar and wrote songs himself?

 _“Love is blind, love is tender  
And the craziest thing you'll ever do” _ – as the song ended Credence released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and in his head, a myriad of thoughts exploded, like a universe collapsing into its very existence; leaving him lightheaded and flustered to the core.

Then Judy and Donald came scuttling in from a door that led to the garden, they were bickering about plates and cups and lamps, and Credence snapped back into himself.

“Need help?” – he asked as he stood next to Graves, watching over the man’s shoulder the movement of his hand as it continued to stir the stew.

“Ah, there you are! Thought you’d run off to Dublin without me.” – Graves said, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk on his face. Credence wished he could put his arms around the man’s hips and press his face to his back. – “We’re almost done here, but you can slice the soda bread if you don’t mind.”

That he could do. Slice bread.

Credence’s culinary skills were less than adequate, so he was relieved Graves hadn’t asked him to do something too advanced like bake a cake, or season the stew, or not stare at him like he was the eighth wonder of the world.

He would’ve failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry to disappoint but if you ever tried to take a train from camp to limerick, you wouldn't be able to, because it doesn't actually exist, oops  
> kudos for graves singinggg! lmao, in this verse he's like incredibly patriotic so irish songs are a must. Plus, i actually really like that song, [check it out ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L1uMA120Mhk)  
> lots of love xx


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all i can say is: i'm sorry!

They had dinner in the backyard.

It was already dark outside, but Donald had lit a string of light bulbs that hung over the white picnic table atop which three mason jar candles lay. Plates, glassware and cutlery were already set too.

Graves came out of the house, saucepot gripped by the handles, as Judy trailed behind him carrying a bowl and chatting in that high-pitched tone of hers, but it wasn’t intolerable to Credence anymore, even when he had a marked tendency to dislike people who spoke too loud.

Before digging into their meal, Judy announced they were to say grace and with a jut of her chin instructed Donald into directing the prayer. It wasn’t a long one, seeing that Donald had been complaining about his hunger for at least an hour, but still Credence and Graves exchanged subtle smiles while their hosts prayed.

The meal consisted of lamb stew, soda bread, and colcannon.

About the latter Judy had said - “It’s like mashed potatoes. But better.”

Credence found out that Judy and Donald were the kind of people you couldn’t simply avoid, either due to their overly kind hospitality or their forced-fed eagerness, it was hard to tell, maybe a mixture of the two. Whichever the reason, after a few spoonfuls Credence’s shoulders were tense no longer and his heart wasn’t beating like that of a rabbit. At his side Graves remained the same unflappable man, except his stoic mask was falling down his face with every bite and every sip of cider.

During most of the meal they made idle chatter, talking about the weather, the uncertainty of economy after Brexit, the state of the hotel, the Caoilfhionn - Graves didn’t lead on to how unwholesome it was now, but based on Judy’s recollections it used to be a much prosperous place.

“Dingle, yeah. Used to be called _An Daingean._ Very popular for tourists, mostly the adventurous ones.” – said Judy.

“Most of ‘em want to visit Dublin nowadays, mind you.” – replied Donald, stuffing a mouthful of colcannon into his mouth - “Old Dublin, wonderful city, but a bit crowded these past years.” – here he gulped down the rest of his drink – “Leave me here, in Limerick.” - he concluded.

Graves chuckled and the sound warmed Credence, somehow sheltering him from the cool breeze of the night.

“Sure, ‘cause Limerick’s only the third most populated city in the country.”

“Blimey, son! When did you become so bitter about the cities?” – said the man chuckling.

Credence, who’d smiled at the light banter quite amused, instantly perceived Donald had screwed up just as he had on the train. Graves’ semblance darkened at the light of the suspended bulbs, Judy stilled, glass halfway to her mouth; Donald simply looked down.

Nonetheless, Graves quickly regained his composure, straightening his back and taking another bite, seemingly reluctantly, of soda bread dipped in stew.

“It’s fine, Donald, Judy… You don’t have to walk on eggshells for me. It’s been, what – fourteen years already? I’m -  _it’s fine_.”

Credence wasn’t feeling hungry anymore, not that he hadn’t eaten most of his share anyway, but his stomach dropped lower with each word the innkeeper, _Graves_ , pronounced. Those words were stifled, like clenched in his teeth, yet still voiced with confidence.

Graves played it cool. Phlegmatic.

It was more alarming than if he had broken down in sobs.

Credence glanced at him sideways, certain in the knowledge that this display of long-buried pain wasn’t for his eyes to see. So instead he played with what was left in his bowl, then fidgeting with crumbs of soda bread, getting inebriated via tiny sips of cider.

He couldn’t finish the drink so fast. Small sips. Tiny sips. That was the only way to survive the awkwardness he was neck-deep in.

“Does Credence know?” – asked Judy, her voice softer than Credence had heard until that point.

A dragging sound slid over the wood table. Graves cleared his throat.

“Uh, no – he… We haven’t gotten around that… yet.” – the last word carrying a questioning inflection.

Credence looked up at Graves, and there was a hint of insecurity obscuring his handsome features, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to keep their cover. Stupid fake lovers cover.

Ah, but he _was_.

_Of course he was!_

Credence didn’t know why but right here, under the light of the Irish moon, lying about a romantic liaison with an innkeeper he barely knew, sounded like the greatest idea known to mankind.

That, and alcohol, which at the moment was his ticket to salvation.

He wasn’t drunk per se, but he was a little tipsy, ears warming at the tips. He’d never been one to drink himself into unconsciousness, it was risky and tacky and frankly, completely idiotic.  

“Should I-?” – asked Judy.

Graves caught her meaning, and gestured positively with a swift flick of his hand, glass pressed once more to his lips.

Credence’s stare lingered more than necessary on the man, but he told himself it was okay. He was only playing a part, and said part was that of a concerned lover, anxious to know more about his new boyfriend’s past but dreading whatever was to be said.

In a way, he was all of the above; lover title be omitted.

“Fourteen years ago Percy’s parents… they passed away, Credence. It was a dreadful business, was on the news and everything. A car crash. With a bus. They were on their way to Dublin that day, may god have them in their glory.” – she said crossing herself.

Credence put the glass on the table then, disgusted at the slightly burned state of his throat, the dryness of his mouth. He wasn’t expecting _that_. Graves’ past was required to be mysterious, being the way he was, but it was pretty fucking depressing too.

Utter sobriety was a gift Credence wished he still had.

He wished he could take Graves’ hand in his own, show him he wasn’t completely buzzed and lost to alcohol; that he wasn’t taking this moment of honesty for granted.

Then he remembered… He _was_ Graves’ boyfriend.

Sure, it was a lie, a misunderstanding neither of them had been too eager to correct. But still, fake boyfriend or not, he cared. Funny how a blatant lie seemed to be the sole catapult for his bravery.

Graves’ hand was warm to the touch, his palm a bit clammy. 

“I’m sorry.” – Credence whispered, the tone of his voice so low it probably went unnoticed.

But Graves, he understood, having maybe read his lips, interpreting the intent of the gesture.

Graves kept fiddling with his food, then he raised his face and smiled at Donald, who had a contrite look on his face, drooped brows, mouth tight.

“They were going to buy a small property, another inn. They wanted to move to Dublin, well, Mam wanted to move to Dublin. My father… he wanted to stay at Dingle, everything was going great back then, with more than enough visitors each season. Rooms all booked in the summer. That’s how they got the money for the inn at Dublin. Then it all went to shit, of course. The hotel died with them, in a way.” – Graves’ voice was back to its flat cadence; he was detaching himself from his past.

Credence couldn’t think of anything valuable to say so he settled for - “Oh.”

“The bank is kicking me out.” – said Graves between a mouthful, not looking at anyone in particular.

Surprisingly they were still joined by the hands; the connection was warm, steady, reassuring. Pretty much an anchor for both of them.

“Oh no, Percy! Is that true? It must be! Donald, can you believe this?”

Donald received an exaggerated slap on his arm, and he dramatically stroked the skin beneath the navy-tinted fabric; it coaxed a smile out of Credence. However, when the older man next spoke, there was no playfulness in his words,

“I’m sorry, son.”

“Me too.”

Two words that left no room for quarrel, that locked the subject in a trunk and deemed it off-limits. Graves could do that pretty well, had a knack for translating his feelings into commands, as if whatever he wanted was what was right. Credence felt his head floating and quickly dissipated the thought, it was too elaborate and metaphorical to dwell on under the influence of alcohol.

The next instant Judy was up on her feet, ricocheting from the chair like a spring and smoothing down, with pale hands, the colorful cloth of her skirt.

“Do you like coffee, Credence? I have some coffee cake leftovers from yesterday, that is if Donald here hasn’t gobbled the whole thing down already! Coffee, yes?” – she was looking at him with avid eyes, words slipping out of her mouth at an impressive speed – “How in the world are there people who dislike the taste of coffee? Baffles me. Always been a coffee drink myself, Donald too. Two cups a day at the very least, and if I don’t get my share, the headaches, dear! They’re worse every time. But I’m too old to go cold turkey now, as they say. Can’t live a day without the taste of coffee. I’ll go get us some cake, eh?”

Credence had kept up… poorly, with her nervous monologue. Coffee cake, that he understood. Also her addiction to caffeine, apparently they had something in common.

At Graves’ attempt to stand up Judy shushed him, and without Credence taking notice, she pointed her head at the boy. _Don’t leave him alone_ , she may have meant. Credence had no idea.

In front of them Donald nodded, head heavy on his shoulders, eyelids half-closed. He was the picture of drowsiness, and the immediate thought hit Credence: they were overstaying their visit. Well, _he_ was.

He was a stranger to this people. All of them.

He was immersed amidst a group of friends, a family, that he didn’t really know. He was an intruder.

Had he googled ‘how to run away with a sprained ankle’ millions of sites would’ve popped up, none of which he would’ve clicked on. Maybe he didn’t want to go away. Maybe it would be alright if he stayed a little longer, hand grasping the innkeeper’s hand. Maybe it was okay Gellert wasn’t waiting for him, that way he would not be disappointed when Credence didn’t show up.

Maybe it was better this way.

“Coffee cake!” – proclaimed Judy making a reappearance, plastic tray held proudly in her hands and containing four small plates, each carrying a triangular slice of a three-layered cake.

Credence wasn’t clear-headed enough to distinguish who had broken the point of contact first, either he or Graves, and it truly wasn’t really that important, but it did leave him feeling… bereft. No doubt Gellert would have shamed his sentimentality, and in some cases he was right to do so.

See: that time he cried watching a marathon of Ghibli films.

Gellert hadn’t liked them, even if he’d only glimpsed at the screen every now and then. Too much fantasy, he’d said.

Credence shook his head, pulling himself back to the present. Back to where he had a dessert spoon in hand, and chocolate curls lay sloppily over caramel-colored icing.

It tasted just like coffee in his mouth, but creamier, denser, softer. His gaze focused on his fake-boyfriend the second Graves all but moaned at the taste, bottom lip slightly smeared by cream. He wanted to _lick_ it. Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest idea, but he was ready to lean forward and… do it.

The miracle came in the form of Graves cleaning the mess with his own thumb.

_Okay, good. Better._

“Do you like it?” – asked Judy, oblivious to Credence’s less-than-innocent train of thought.

 _Scrumptious_ was the first word that came to his mind.

“It’s lovely, ma’am.”

“Fucking delicious.” – said Graves.

And okay. He might have immediately placed the man’s choice of words in another context, a completely different one. One where he wasn’t talking about a goddamn piece of cake. Or maybe he was…

_Get your damn act together, Credence._

To conceal the blush that he felt spreading over the bridge of his nose, Credence dug into the cake keenly, enjoying each bite but not quite taking the time to relish the taste.

The flavor was overwhelming in his tongue, the portion a bit oversized and struggling its way down his throat.

_Gellert._

Too much, too fast.

_Gellert liked coffee._

They’d bought a coffee maker for the new place. An expensive one.

_Gellert never shared his cup of coffee with him._

He could be a bit selfish, but who wasn’t?

_Gellert would’ve liked this cake._

He’d say he’d tasted betters. People needed to be kept on a tight leash.

_Gellert-_

“Easy there, babe!”

It was Graves’ voice and Graves’ hand on his wrist, a welcomed weight placating him. He took the glass the innkeeper was offering and swallowed two gulps of water. The knot in his throat quickly dissolved, and he was left with glassy eyes and ten tons of embarrassment dangling over his head.

“Sorry.” – he managed to blurt out.

Judy made a dismissive gesture and chuckled, at her side Donald was eyeing her plate, no doubt wanting to eat more than his already-eaten portion.

“Everything alright?”- Graves was leaning his way, and despite the caffeine and the cream and the chocolate, Credence was still able to catch a whiff of his scent, salty with undertones of olden wood.

Credence nodded, eyes fixed on the remnants of his cake. Would it be too dramatic if he stopped eating, was he supposed to go on as if he hadn’t almost choked himself in the dumbest of ways? He wanted more, because yes, it was no lie: the cake _was_ delicious, mouthwatering, succulent; but eating more could be perceived as him being greedy.

 _Gluttonous,_ in Ma’s words.

“So how did you two meet?”

Right.

The almost choking had been only a pause. They were still playing the fake couple game, and judging by Graves’ lack of interest at the question, it was up to him to come up with a believable enough story, not overly cheesy or too frigid. He cleared his throat and took another sip of water, praying his voice wasn’t quivery when he lied at the hosts’ expecting, excited faces.

“I’m in the real estate business back in New York, and my company- they were interested in expanding overseas. So they sent me to Ireland, here, I mean. To Dingle. And I stayed at Graves’ inn. And we uh, liked each other.” – smooth, _yeah right_.

It’d been a pitiful falsehood, laughable even, but Donald and Judy were nodding, silent, waiting for the next chunk of information of be thrown out in the air.

Credence felt his chest expanding, like a balloon about to burst, pushing and pressing against each and every organ.

“Credence here wasn’t interested in my property though.” – added Graves, spoon on the white plate, cake finished.

“Why is that?” – interjected Donald, his eyes opened a little wider now.

“And why do you call him Graves, sweetie? Sounds a bit cold, a tad standoffish. Don’t you think?” – that was Judy.

Oh, Judy and her witty observations.

“He’s not a big supporter of showing affection in public, not even verbally.”

Which wasn’t true in the slightest. But this was only a cardboard version of him, a fake person who’d fallen in love with Graves. Not him. Not the _real_ Credence.

“Yes, that’s true.”

Graves’ statement was a blanket or rather… an armor. The latter making much more sense after little thought; an armor that protected them from having to act all cuddly and cheesy and lovey-dovey in front of the other couple.

_Smart man._

“Are you sure it’s not because we make you uncomfortable? We really don’t mind that you are both men. Do we, Donald?” – without waiting for her husband to reply she added – “It’s really okay. Whatever you do is fine, Percy. You don’t have to act stiff all the time, not when you’ve got someone as lovely and pretty as Credence to keep you company. I remember when Donald and I first met, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other - Not saying you two have to be like that, but if you are then it’s fine, right dear? But well, what do I know!”

“See, darling? They don’t mind!”

Teasing. Jarring. Seductive. Above everything, the words were infuriating, but they caused a wave of heat to nip at Credence to his core.

Once again he was being toyed with by the Irishman.

Going against his fake-boyfriend’s lie would do more harm than good. Credence took another bite of the coffee cake, bracing himself with caffeine for whatever reckless destiny they were heading for.

“Ah, that’s great then, Per- Percival.”

And he smiled, wide and uncomfortable.

In went another piece of cake.

“But why wouldn’t you buy the lad’s property? No, no, wait! You want to sell it?” – Donald again, eyes following the path of Credence’s spoon, but words aimed at Graves.

Graves’ demeanor was smug, his arm draped along Credence’s shoulders, his voice teasing yet credible.

“Not lucrative enough, was it? It’s fine though, we’ve gone through this. Credence will help me out at the inn.”

“Will I?”

“Will you?” – retorted Judy excitedly.

“Yes.” – replied Credence automatically, mind devoid of any coherent thought.

Graves chuckled a low rasping sound that reverberated inside Credence’s frame.

_Caffeine excess._

“Oh, that’s lovely!” – Judy clasped her hands and beamed at the two of them; she looked like a beatific matron.

Somewhere behind sleepy eyes Donald was smiling too.

“He’ll be moving in with me at the inn. Says he can’t stand New York anymore; Dingle has won him over. Besides, long distance relationships are only good in fiction. In real life? It’s better to wake up to the other person’s warmth, their touch. Don’t you agree, dear?”

Pushing his luck, the bastard. Pushing every single one of Credence’s goddamn buttons too.

“Oh, yes, you’re right! I really like that.”

Credence made a move for the other glass, the one that contained amber liquid and made him feel wobblier after each sip.

He moved his chair closer to Graves, head resting on his shoulder. Playing his role.

He felt Graves turning his head, most likely to look down at him, whether with a smile on his lips or shocked at the younger man’s incitement, he needn’t know.

“I think Credence had a bit too much of that cider!” – a female voice chirped.

Credence couldn’t see her face, Judy’s face. His eyes had closed at some point, all he could sense was the solid warmth beneath his head, the languid pace of his own heart, the faraway sigh that turned out to be his.

On the background the same radio kept playing ballads from the kitchen, the sound was muffled, distant, but it made the moment more pleasant, it reminded Credence of lullabies, and he wished he could go to bed.

Strangely it didn’t make him think of his bed back in the city, nor of Gellert’s arms embracing him. They rarely did anyway.

“You should stay with us tonight! The guest room is yours if you want it, Percy. Can’t take this poor creature out on the streets at this hour now, can you?” – the words were blurry in Credence’s ears, yet he understood what Judy was suggesting.

What Graves had accepted without even asking him.

“I’m sorry?” – he was heavy. Heavier. His neck straining to support his head upright. Apparently all those tiny sips had decided to kick in just after dessert.

“We’re staying here tonight, darling. Judy was kind enough to offer us her guest room.” – his eyes were pleading, _don’t ruin the cover_ , he seemed to be saying. – “We’ll take a train to Dublin first thing in the morning, alright, babe?”

And yes, perhaps the endearment had been more than persuasive enough to have him accepting with an easy smile on his lips, but could he really be blamed? The simple word rolling on Graves’ tongue, soaked in that thick accent of his, had shot him with a scorching bullet that quickly spread its heat through his veins.

The day was lost anyway, and there was still time to get to Dublin on time, though the impending holiday wasn’t as exciting anymore. He could lie to himself and say he was living in the present, when in reality all he wanted was to push back the hands of the clock, or at the very least stop them from advancing.

 

-

 

The way to the guest room was not one he could remember. Apart from Graves’ scent, the roughness of his stubble, and the strong arm half-carrying his weight and avoiding his ankle from getting further injured, it was all a big blank space.

The innkeeper deposited him on the bed and turned the lights on as he made his way to a sitting chair, untying his shoes.

Credence was offered another glass of water, lucidity coming back to him thanks to the brightness of the lights. That and Graves’ bare torso.

The sight could’ve woken the dead.

“Uh, so…” – he said, placing the glass on the bedside table, knees drawn to his chest, chin resting above them.

“So.”

Graves looked just the same: undisturbed, collected. Was he simply very good at pretending? Was he not drunk on, not only the alcohol, but the caffeine and the music and their fake love too?

The double bed and a sitting chair that was more of a recliner sofa, were the most prominent furniture in the sparse room.

“How’s your ankle?”

Graves was right there again, sitting on the bed across him, making him lie down without using any words, and taking the still somewhat swollen ankle in careful, calloused hands. 

The comforter was a bit overused, the pillows soft but not fluffed out. Credence took a deep breath and reminded himself this wasn’t his life; this was only a stop along the way.

“Better.”

Credence closed his eyes, gathering strength to stay still, to not snap at any given second and openly ask for what could only be described as a craving. He was committed to another man, they would be engaged in a couple days, they would move to the Upper West Side.

They would be happy.

His touch was brief, a delicate caress on the back of his calf, just shy of the joint of his knee. A light squeeze, a tender glide, it could all have been product of his elated imagination.

But it wasn’t.

Because when he opened his eyes Graves was staring right back at him, his eyes swallowed up in lustful darkness, his lips minimally parted. It was confusing as much as it was thrilling, and his heart was back to imitating a rabbit’s, a flush rising from the base of his neck to his face.

It was neither proper nor correct, but Credence was rapidly falling from that tower he’d locked himself in.

It puzzled him how the simple touch of a hand could rouse in him more anticipation than when Gellert made him bend over the edge of the bed.

Perhaps that was a bit of an overstatement, but it was what he felt.

Graves remained quiet as Credence rose to a sitting position, faces now leveled, eyes searching each other for something, anything; a sign that whispered ‘yield’.

Suddenly Graves’ hand traveled upward, lingering on his knee, and from this distance Credence could count every bristle on the man’s cheeks, could smell the coffee and the cider in his mouth. And his lips… pink and inviting, ghosting so close to his own.

He sensed the tiniest shift in Graves’ posture, the angling of his head, the space between them sewed closer but was not quite conquered. Then Graves was pulling back, still orbiting his mouth, still very reachable, but he was fixed in place, eyes darting from lips to eyes, then back again. Hesitant.

Credence wanted to say yes, yes, just kiss me already!

So of course he kept quiet.

He wanted to beg for the man to make the first move, to claim his mouth without indecision, to push his tongue inside and suck at the swell of his bottom lip.

He was so absorbed in Graves that everything around him turned into a big blurred colored canvas, abstract lumps that made no sense. The only reasonable, viable course was that of kissing Graves, of being kissed _by_ him.

But he couldn’t, not really. What would that make of him? A cheater. A liar.

Graves hovered right in front of him, leaning forward one second only to pull back the next, stretching the moment into an eternity and unraveling Credence with his maddening vacillation.

Gellert deserved better. Gellert who was in Dublin in a cardiology conference, and who would probably accept his proposal on leap day, if he wasn’t terribly busy.

_Gellert._

“I’m getting engaged.” – he whispered.

The words a strict reminder directed at himself rather than at Graves.

Graves didn’t back down, but he didn’t push any farther either. He was just there, centimeters away from him, looking like he’d drown if he didn’t kiss Credence.

“I’m getting engaged.” – whispered Credence again, closing his eyes, allowing fortune to carry him away, not willing to intervene lest he ruined everything, afraid of guilt.

Graves moved closer, the hand on his knee lifting, sweet breath exhaled in a gasp and breathed inside Credence’s mouth. Dry. His mouth was so very dry.

Credence whimpered.

“I’m getting engaged.” – the last word was no more than a broken string of letters.

“Fuck.”

Much too quickly for Credence’s like, Graves was up on his feet, pacing back and forth over the carpet only to shortly after come to a halt, back facing Credence, and shaking his head.

Swiftly the maroon sofa was reclined flat, and Graves was striding across the room grabbing a pillow in his hand, and then flicking off the lights. It all had happened so quickly Credence was still stuck in a stupor.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I’m… I apologize.”- came Graves’ voice from the darkness.

“It’s… okay. Fine.” – replied Credence, horrified at what had almost happened, what he had not so implicitly encouraged.

The covers were warm but the thrill was still curling at his spine, cold and sharp as ice. He closed his eyes and thought of what Tina would’ve said. The traitor would’ve cheered him up, pom-poms and mini-skirt included, anything to get rid of Gellert.

It was wrong and twisted and selfish, but thinking of his actual boyfriend made him feel guilty for not feeling guilty enough. As he lay on the bed his mind still lingered on the innkeeper’s touch, the closeness of his lips, the open desire written all over his body.

He wanted Credence, that was plain to see. At least for that single minute, that myriad of seconds.

And Credence had wanted him.

Still did.

“Fuck!”

First came the curse, then the brash crack. He raised himself on both hands and fiddled with the switch of the bedside lamp. The dim yellow glow showed Graves, body twisted awkwardly over the recliner, low curses flowing from his mouth.

“What happened?”

“The damn chair broke.”

Credence watched the man pleasantly entertained as Graves struggled to fix the object and proffered more low-toned abuses at the chair, as if it would hear him and repair itself just to please him.

“You can sleep here if you want.” – the words were out without second thoughts.

Sharing a bed with an almost stranger was nothing. He could handle it. It was only out of necessity.

A desperate measure.

Minutes passed and Credence thought he’d spoken too low, that the message hadn’t reached Graves, but then the man stood up and sighed defeated.

Pillow in hand he made his way to the left side of the bed and made quick work of covering his legs with the blanket, body immediately facing away from Credence.

“Good night.” – he said after a while, it sounded dangerously close to an order for Credence to turn off the light.

He wasn’t a chair, he complied effortlessly to Graves’ words.

In the darkness, wondering when his life had escalated to these heights of crazy, Credence answered,

“Good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've horribly neglected this fic i know, i hope you can forgive me. Also, not trying to come up with excuses but this was written by a very tired and fevered human being, just sharing xD  
> love you all, follow me on tumblr: [elvishflower ](http://elvishflower.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pardon my angst

_I’m going to hell._

That’s the first thought that Credence, half-asleep as he was, could formulate.

The light of morning invaded the room even through the heavy set of curtains and glowed over taut stretches of skin. Skin that was warm and creamy and _not his._

Somewhere during the course of the night, his unconscious, tricky little bastard, had maneuvered his body closer to Graves’. _Closer_ meaning Credence’s head was lying right on the curve of the innkeeper’s shoulder while his hand rested firmly over the center of the man’s chest. Not only could he hear and feel the calm pace of his breathing, but he himself seemed to be following the same pattern, that is until he noticed, then anxiety took over, and sent both his lungs and heart into frenzy.

Credence hoped he’d woken up later. Let Graves be the one to fuss for a change. But here he was, comfy and cozy as he hadn’t been in a long, _long_ time.

If he purposely delayed his escape for a minute or two, and if during that time he couldn’t help but inhale Graves’ scent and scrutinize every little twitch of his face, no one needed to know.

Disentangling himself from Graves was like trying to move when one’s pet fell asleep over you. Except Graves wasn’t a pet, and _he_ had fallen asleep over the man, not the other way around. The metaphor didn’t really apply to their situation, but that was the least of Credence’s concerns.

What did worry him was that sleeping by Graves’ side felt so damnably good he was starting to question his own sanity. Even worse, his feelings.

Watching the man’s sleeping figure from above Credence wondered what it would be like to wake up next to him every morning. Perhaps in spite of his simulated cold exterior he was just as desperate for affection, as clingy as Credence was. If any of the words he had said in favor of their fake relationship were to be taken at heart’s value, then Credence could’ve easily fallen in love with him in another lifetime, or at least in version of reality where he hadn’t flown all the way to Ireland to do something so ridiculous and reckless it could nearly be considered stupid.

Caught up in the sight of Graves Credence forgot all about his sprained ankle, and the moment he tried to walk his throat let out the lamest whine. Of course, it woke up Graves, who stirred in the bed and cracked open a single eye. When he spoke his voice was groggy and rough,

“I’ll be up in ten, princess.”

And then, like any other grownup man, he turned sideways and threw the pillow over his head, completely ignoring Credence in favor of sleep.

Which was… probably for the best.

 

Locked in the guestroom’s bathroom Credence took a good look at his reflection on the mirror. Tousled hair, chapped lips, bleary eyes. He appeared the same as ever, and yet he felt entirely different. From within him a certain glow was radiating, and to his dismay he suspected Graves, that insufferable Irish individual, was the cause.

He couldn’t banish him from his head. The sunrise had gifted him with a yearning, a longing. Credence wanted to open the door and quietly creep beneath the linen sheets, slot his body next to Graves’ and remain like that, embraced in his arms, feeling the relaxed beating of his heart, peppering kisses over his skin, and have the man wake up smiling only to capture his lips in a heated kiss.

A kiss.

_Right._

He’d almost forgotten about that little incident from the night before, that threat to his future, his beliefs and morals. Truth be told he couldn’t really blame Graves, not completely. There was this… spark between them, a boiling tension that had been bubbling ever since they first met. Which was, distressingly, not long ago at all, even if it felt otherwise.  

Credence didn’t believe in love at first sight, but oh how he wanted to.

If love at first sight existed, then all his worries would go down the drain because no one would hold anyone’s love against them. Unless of course you had already fallen in love, and also if love was only to be shared by the same two people, which in many cases wasn’t true. Honestly, the whole love at first thing was more than a little pitiful, a fantasy for the idealists at heart, and he wasn’t one of them. Life and Ma had made sure of that.

So Credence ruled out love at first sight, he ruled out any type of predestined crap.

What he was left with was ‘reciprocal lively attraction’, and although the name wasn’t quite as catchy it clearly explained the thing that had unfurled between them.

There was no harm in feelings unless they were acted upon, with this thought Credence gave himself permission to _feel_. Attraction or whatever other nonsense, it would most likely vanish in a day or two. Or upon seeing Gellert, the one he should feel this way about.

Three knocks on the door.

“You still in there?” - Graves sounded every ounce of drowsy as he probably was, a drawled voice that made you think of whiskey and tar.

His moment of introspection had extended a little too long apparently - “Uh, yes. Coming.”

Credence winced at the word, and mentally chastised himself for it - the wincing, aka self-mortification. He would ride the hell out of this ‘feeling wave’ and just… let it be. He brushed his teeth and washed his face in less than a minute, and opened the door expecting to find Graves standing there, waiting, but the man was sitting on the bed checking his phone.

“All yours.” – said Credence, eyes lingering on the man’s bare torso.

Graves smirked up at him and was about to say something, but then seemed to think better of it and pursed his lips together, making his way to the bathroom and shutting the door without glancing back at Credence.

He shouldn’t have thought anything about it, because there wasn’t much to be studied about Graves’ manner, but still, it made him feel hollow.

 

Credence made his way to the kitchen hoping to find either Judy or Donald to help them prepare breakfast and not be a complete leech, but he encountered no one. Clipped to the fridge was a bright yellow note, it read: _‘Went to the church. Make yourselves at home, boys! Please wait for us before you leave. Love, Judy.’_

He shouldn’t have been surprised, really. At this point it felt as if the universe itself was trying very hard to set him up with Graves, subtlety thrown out of the window without any misgivings.

He sighed.

With or without Judy and Donald, Credence decided he’d prepare breakfast. Luckily it was the type of food he could prepare unscathed. He wasn’t skilled with complicated dishes, but he was able to make a wholesome and very appetizing breakfast, or so he’d been told by the Goldstein sisters, and Queenie was a terrific cook herself. Surely her words weren’t born out of falsities.

Cooking in a strange kitchen was awkward and intimidating. He felt like a burglar as he took out a saucepan and perused the fridge and pantry for ingredients, waiting for a shrilling voice to yell at him for being so bold and insolent in a house that didn’t belong to him.

Not wanting to exploit Judy’s hospitality more than necessary, he prepared a quick breakfast for two: Belgian waffles and cheesy scrambled eggs, a mixture of berries and chopped bananas served on cups, and two black coffees.

More surprising than his ability to concoct a meal as simple yet nutritive as that in so little, was the fact that Graves hadn’t emerged from the room yet, which left Credence with two full plates on the table and two mugs of steaming coffee. Sat on the wooden chair, he patiently waited for the man, and out of politeness, ignored the gurgle in the pit of his stomach.

Coffee he couldn’t resist. Of that he took little sips.

At least he hadn’t woken up with a hangover, though that would’ve been preferable to the awkwardness of waiting for Graves as the food grew colder.

Sip after sip, he finished his coffee without digging into his breakfast.

Half an hour or so later Credence gave up and reached for his fork. The waffles weren’t crunchy and the cheese in the eggs had gone rubbery, and it was all too cold for his taste, but he couldn’t use the microwave. It felt like yet another affront to Judy’s generosity.

He heard footsteps as he did the dishes, quiet thumps over hardwood floors.

Out of instinct, his head sloped as his shoulders hunched inwards, unconsciously bracing for an outburst from Graves, either because the food had gone cold, or _what_ he’d cooked, or yesterday’s big freaking elephant in the room… Maybe he’d been awake when Credence was, well, all over him.

He had a distinct tendency for jumping to the worst conclusions.

“Is this for me?”

Credence didn’t look back, he didn’t need to see whatever expression was written on the innkeeper’s face; he nodded feeling incredibly foolish for cooking for Graves, the man was more than capable of preparing his own breakfast, and had that been the case he wouldn’t be eating chewy waffles and rubbery eggs and cold coffee. Thank god for the berries and bananas.

“You don’t have to eat it” - he said, finally plucking the courage to turn around, hands gripping the edge of the counter.

Graves was seated at the table, face fresh, hair as unkempt as when he’d roused. Thankfully he’d had the decency of putting on a shirt.

_He must’ve taken a shower,_ the soapy scent of cleanliness still clung to him.

“Is it poisoned?” -  he asked teasingly, fork frozen in midair.

That wrung a smile out of him - “No” - he said, feeling rather shy as Graves took the bite in his mouth - “Though it might as well be. It’s gone cold.”

He fixed his gaze to the floor, examining his sock-clad feet.

It was pathetic, the flutter of his stomach. It made him feel sixteen all over again. Sixteen and naïve, and harboring a too intense crush, unquestionably unrequited. He was making a fool of himself, wasn’t he?

“This is really good! It _is_ a bit cold though. Gonna heat it a little, okay?” – handsome wasn’t quite _the_ word to describe Graves right now, though it was one of many.

Adorable. Precious. Gut-wrenching. _Endearing._

“Yeah, sure. Okay.”

Credence hated how good and weak Graves’ approval made him feel, like butter melting over toasted bread.

Validation… it’d be the end of him.

The sixty seconds till the microwave rang felt as long as a small eternity, with Graves tapping his fingers on the counter and occasionally glancing over his shoulder at Credence who’d taken a seat at the table, body ramrod straight, every fiber locked in an ungainly position.

The more he thought about it, the wiser it sounded - in his mind - to discuss the almost kiss. Whatever the outcome, some not-so-elusive reason must have gotten them to that point, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was only because of the cider and their ‘reciprocal lively attraction’.

Early morning didn’t make a good judge out of him either, it seemed.

“So… last night.” – he said as soon as Graves rejoined him at the table, chin propped on his hand.

Graves breathed deeply, like he really meant it - “I already apologized for that, Credence.” - the answer curt, clenched, but then he looked up from beneath those dark brows, eyes glimmering - “Or maybe you changed your mind?”

“I-what?” – the wind caught in his throat, Credence could feel a wave of fluster washing over him - “No!”

Graves tskd, and leaned back on his chair.

“And here I thought you were really my boyfriend. Pity.”

As sad as it was, the words sent a jolt down Credence’s spine. Exhilaration.

God forgive him, he wanted this. Wanted _him._ Wanted to run his fingers through the Irishman’s dark hair, kiss the space between his brows, sit on his lap and wrap both arms around his neck, pretend this was the kitchen of their house, a house they’d bought through conjoined effort and a house that would host parties Tina would attend to happily, and not out of obligation. She would like him, Graves.

In all honesty, _everyone_ would like him. He was charming like that.

“Look, Credence...” – said Graves, pulling Credence from his reverie, severing the string of thought his mind had weaved - “I like you, and I usually don’t like people- “

Not only severed, the cord had snapped, a sudden lash against his ribcage.

“Should I feel special?” – that came out much bitter and cutting than he’d intended, but he was tired to the core of being patronized. He was not a child. He hadn’t been one for many years now, thank you very much. Besides, who was Graves to be throwing out declarations like that?

“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Graves ran his fingers through his hair, making it messier, then drank some coffee.

“The thing is… you’re great, not to mention outright gorgeous. But much too soon you’re getting engaged to some man I _really_ hope is worth spending so much of your time with me. You’re lovely, darling. You really are. But I shouldn’t have done that last night, and you know it. Don’t throw away what you’ve got for needy lust, else you’re gonna regret it, and I don’t wanna carry that weight over my shoulders. Homewrecker? Think I’ll pass. So just… forget about it, okay?”

_Feeling_ was allowed.

After all, wasn’t the human heart meant to burst with emotions? However, that didn’t explain the twisting stab in his gut, or his throat tying up in a knot, or the sting deep behind his eyes.

“Oh.” – it shouldn’t hurt. This wasn’t what he’d thought of when he woke up this morning and decided he’d let his feelings for Graves run free. He’d been thinking of lingering touches and long-thought contemplations, maybe even furtive glances and blunt smiles, teasing and bickering, pretending to be in love if only to keep up appearances. Their time together was supposed to be happy and carefree and everything Credence’s life wasn’t. _In, out, in out._ \- “Yeah, sure. It’s not like- I wasn’t suggesting anything anyway.”

If Graves noticed the faint tremor in his voice, he was kind enough not to mention it.

“Thanks again. It was delicious.”

Credence didn’t look up. He didn’t reply. There was something crawling inside his chest, pawing with rusty claws at his heart.

_You’re too old to be this stupid._

At least his assertion of Graves had been correct. He was truly attracted to Credence, but apparently it was easy enough for him – as it should’ve been for Credence- to sweep that attraction under a rug when it became an inconvenience, a nuisance.

God, this was all wrong. At what point had he let his entire world turn upside-down for this man, this utter stranger?

With light, quick steps he managed to escape Graves’ questioning eyes. Locked inside the guest’s bathroom his defenses fell one after the other.

His breath was heaving and he was crying. Crying like a little boy after his mom beat him for eating a piece of candy that belonged to his sister, crying like an outcast teenager rejected by sneering peers, crying worse than the time Gellert accidentally slapped him across the face.

It was silly, he thought, as scalding water rained down on him, skin flushed and vulnerable. Every word Graves had said rang with truth, but how he wished the man was wrong.

He was too much of a coward to admit he too liked Graves. Liked him more than most people. The admittance was terrifying because it was true, and what Credence couldn’t even comprehend, much less admit to himself was… he liked Graves more than he liked Gellert.

The idea had been seeping into his brain, simmering under layers of denial, but the lid was wide open now, and from it unnamable thoughts had escaped.

Somewhere outside that door stood a good man who liked him, who last night had burned with the undying need to kiss him, who was caring and kind despite his bad-tempered façade. A man who conjured damn butterflies in Credence’s stomach, and who could make his knees weak with only a smile.

He didn’t believe in love at first sight, but he believed in timing.

And theirs wasn’t the right one.

Whatever they could’ve been would remain a ‘ _what if_ ’. Maybe in another lifetime, or in a parallel universe they were together, sharing a quiet life in beautiful but remote Dingle. Or maybe they lived in New York in a small apartment with views of the Hudson.

No maybes would fix this though. Graves had brusquely delivered the reality check he very much needed.

Rinsing suds of soap from his body Credence came to two conclusions.

First, he really liked Graves. ‘Like’ as in the romantic sense of the word, the sense that entailed holding hands and endless kissing and deep conversations and silly jokes and lazy morning sex followed by late morning breakfasts. He wanted to show him the beauty of New York through his eyes, take him to all his favorite places and share stories of his past, give him frayed pieces of himself to keep, let him see his weaknesses and his strengths, strip all pretense and lay himself bare for Graves to see, to accept, to cherish. Crazy and incredible as it seemed, seeing Graves lit a roaring fire in his soul, seared him from within, ignited all the best parts of him without making him feel as if he wasn’t enough, as if his demons needed to be put to rest. Finding Graves, he realized, was like finding a part of himself inhabiting another body. So yes, he wanted Graves.  

He wanted everything with him and even more, which brought him to his second conclusion, _I need to get away from Graves._

The sole idea was painful, but it was also something he needed to do if he wanted to keep his wits. Remaining any longer in the Irishman’s orbit was a recipe for disaster, but he couldn’t just leave him stranded here, he owed him that much.

That and a thousand dollars, of course.

Credence devised a plan then, and poor as it was it’d have to do. It consisted of three simple yet effective steps: keep the charade until Judy and Donald return from church, leave for Dublin in the first available train, pay Graves and never look back.

 

-

 

A blue car rolled into the driveway at eleven am.

Due to an unspoken agreement he hadn’t crossed paths with Graves all morning. He’d stayed inside the guestroom watching tv or at least trying, then failing at reading the book he’d brought with him by staring too much at the window, wishing time would go by faster. _Dublin, Dublin, Dublin_ , chanted his mind until the word lost its meaning and began to sound funny. Discovering Dublin would be ten times better escorted by an Irish, but that of course, was off limits.

He heard animated voices coming from the kitchen, Judy loud and excited as ever, Graves chatting amiably with her; from Donald he could only discern grunts of agreement.

“We really should get going. Credence has this thing we’ve got to get to.” – said Graves, judging by his voice he sounded sincere, like he had a boyfriend he loved named Credence, and they were on their way to Dublin in an Irish version of a road trip, and they were the type of couple others labeled as ‘goals’ on social media.

_Lies, all lies_.

“Ah, well. I’m glad we could see each other, Percy. It’s been too long, dear, promise you’ll visit more often - No, no, Donald and I will pay you a visit in Dingle, won’t we, dear?  And you take good care of that boy, you two make a wonderful pair. I really wish I can get to know him better, he seems like a good person.”

“He is. Wonderful, yeah.” – and maybe the tone of wistfulness in his voice was a product of Credence’s imagination.

Then steps were approaching the guestroom’s door. Credence recoiled and stared out of the window, tricking no one most likely. He wanted to keep his dignity, threadbare as it was.

“Donald’s giving us a lift to the station. Are you all set?”

“Sure.”

Weak, emotional human being he was, his heart tugged as he said goodbye to Judy. The woman had a way of knowing where to dig her finger into, in this case, the newly open wound Graves had cut in him.

“You take care of him, Credence. He may act all tough, but I think you know better. He’s a bit of a loner, but I don’t buy he actually wants to _be_ alone. No one wants to _be_ alone. Be good to him, okay? I’ll come visit soon.”

And then she enfolded him in a hug, maternal and a bit too tight. Credence almost wanted to throw away the mask and confess. _No, I’m not with Graves. We’ve been lying to you, but I really wish it was true. I’m sorry._

The ride to the station was quiet but for the static voice coming from the radio and talking about the importance of god in the lives of people. Donald drove so slow Credence was amazed no policemen had stopped them to give them a ticket. Time stretched itself to accommodate one last little miracle, too bad Credence was in charge now. No universe conspiracy could deter him from the choice he’d made. All he wanted was to get it over with, close his eyes and sink into a nest of blankets, watching Netflix for the rest of eternity.

The moment the car made it to its destination, time resumed, and it seemed to go faster, catching up and flinging Credence into a congested blur. 

Not long after he set foot in Limerick’s train station he found himself looking out the train window at suburbs then vast patches of green then manors and then little towns again. Ireland flashing before his eyes, magnificent and glazed in a wake of sorrow. Graves didn’t speak a word, too absorbed in his novel and if not, he dozed off, or completely ignored him. Credence wanted to believe the ghostly glances he felt roaming over his skin at times were true, but he didn’t dare look back. Looking at Graves was as good as surrendering, because who would be able to resist those enigmatic dark eyes, the easy curve of his lips, the graceful deftness of his hands. No. He had to make it to Dublin. Make it to Dublin, thank Graves with a wad of cash, and walk away.

For all his want to arrive at Dublin, his heart sank to his feet the moment a female voice announced the stop. His feet were as heavy as lead, his will to put one foot in front of the other close to nonexistent.

If he walked, he kept moving away from his dreams and into a nightmare. The only thought that spurred him was _it’ll all be over soon_.

And it wasn’t comforting, in fact, it was depressing as hell. But it was all he had, the only certainty he could hold on to.

 

All too soon they were in front of his hotel, then through the glass doors and inside an elegant lobby, with golden details engraved in the ceilings and polished floors carved from marble. It was sophisticated and pretentious, and he was thrown back into his world of lavish décor and expensive dishes, but he didn’t feel like he belonged, and neither did Graves, though that didn’t stop him from looking like he owned the place, the object of not a few coquettish glances from other guests.

“Wait here.” – those were the first words with meaning he’d spoken to Graves since breakfast. Straightforward, they were all too sharp, but somehow _right_.

He went to talk to the receptionist, and the girl steered him down a hall and into the hotel’s bank. There an old gentleman took his request, not batting an eye at the mention of retiring a thousand dollars in cash.

The sum was probably low compared to that of other client’s.

The envelope was heavy in his hand as he made his way back to the foyer, each step heavier as he approached Graves, who sat on an antique red velvet chair, looking like he didn’t want to be there.

Good thing his task had ended then, Credence thought bitterly.

He wanted to punch himself for giving wings to his childish desires, of course it was all about physical attraction with Graves. It hurt though, to know the man would’ve gone farther, would’ve made him fall in love at the first touch of his lips, make a slave out of him with every heated caress, drained him of his soul as they came together.

Would he have returned those romantic feelings; would he have been able to love Credence?

Countless questions, all answered.

“Thank you, for everything.” – said Credence, handing over the envelope to Graves, mindful of not letting their fingers brush.

Graves stood up, he was only slightly shorter than Credence. If he leaned forward, only a little, he could-

_No._

“Ah, my pleasure, Credence from New York.” – he looked at the yellow wrapper as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it, but then put it in a pocket inside his coat. When he looked up his eyes were a deeper shade of brown, beautiful and mesmerizing, and Credence could’ve drowned in them - “Good luck.” – he said at last, staring at Credence as if from behind a veil, his nonchalance tamed humbler.

Almost apologetic, almost regretful.

“Thanks. Good luck to you too, with the inn.”

“Yeah, the inn.” – then Graves sighed and the final string broke.

Meanwhile an undeniable sense of ‘ _it’s finally done’_ overcame Credence. Unsurprisingly it didn’t feel like a victory.

He smiled and Graves smiled and it was really fucking sad, at least for Credence. It seemed like the ending of an indie film, those that don’t really care about catering to their viewers, the ones where directors do as they goddamn please, filling your head with a million worries only to give you an open ending. Think of an ending yourself, create it.

Not nearly as satisfying as seeing it played out on screen.

As he watched Graves walking away from him, as he saw the glass doors opening, and then having Graves disappear from his sight, Credence was relieved this whole ordeal had come to its end.

And if it was only a lie he was telling himself just so he wouldn’t bolt out the door and chase after the innkeeper, beg him to stay one day more, beg him for a single kiss if only to let this unrequited emotion die once and for all; if it meant he got to see him waking up one last time, robbing clandestine glances like a damn besotted creep, then it was a lie worth telling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys, i'm 95% sure next chapter will be the last!!  
> i'm gonna start working on another gradence project, and a project of my own, but that's not why i'm wrapping this up. there's no other reason for leap year to end except that, well, it's gotta end right? so yeah, next chapter might be the last, love you all<3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it, final chapter!

The very last day of February had finally arrived only to be swept away like any other date in the calendar. The orange light of the sun danced above the surface of the pond as dusk began settling, shrouding the park in slow-creeping shadows while lampposts lit one after the other, mechanically, sequentially. Less than an hour was left before night engulfed Stephen’s Green, the crowds had dwindled, birds chirped louder and a taste of spring hung in the stilted air.

The horizon was but a canvas of blue and yellow and orange, the colors smudged together and interspersed with fat clumps of white clouds. The view from the bench could’ve made a more than fitting postcard: the ducks bathing in the pond, the curated row of trees, and beyond, by the bridge, the unmistakable figure of a man kneeling, a ring too small for the eye to see, proffered in his hand, the Dublin skyline, a colorful vault painted above the couple.

The scene, though evidently heartwarming for many, cut too close.

The green-feathered ducks quacked in misery, or was it misery that had plugged his ears?

More and more lampposts lit up, illuminating the narrow paths that circuited the park as the moon climbed higher up in the sky. It was the same moon that stared down at Dingle, round and bright, the same moon that peeked at New York in the nighttime, distant and never bright enough.

But here in Dublin, on the late evening of the 29th, it was a companion of sorts. The friend that was aware of one’s misfortunes yet kept quiet for fear of saying the wrong thing. In a way, its silence was of greater consolation, a purer and plainer kind of comfort.

From somewhere, the clear notes of a cheerful melody drifted, adding the orotund voice of an accordion to the picture, a stark contrast to the feeling of _not okay_ that had set deep roots within him. With the sun dipping lower and the ducks nipping at each other and the night air turning chiller and the damn accordion playing on as if the streets and the lovers belonged to Paris itself, he felt like the punchline of a bad joke.

Pathetic in every way, shape, and form.

There was a reason Elvis was told ‘only fools rush in’. Whoever graced him with that iconic phrase held the wisdom of the world inside their hand, and Elvis, fool that he was, had probably paid no heed to the wise man’s words. Too often good advices were overlooked. Too often _he_ was guilty of that, and now Dublin was there to witness his demise.

Apparently this time of the year – this specific buy-none-get-one-free day of the year-- was like honey for bees in Stephen’s Green. Bees meaning happy couples.

Mindlessly wandering around the park he stopped to gape at another couple, and really what were the odds? This couple was swaying beneath the shelter of a cream-colored gazebo to a melody only they were able to hear, two figures pressed together waltzing at dusk, they almost looked like ghosts. The sight punched the breath out of his lungs and discombobulated his head. Suddenly he was disconnecting from his body, hearing everything as if murmured by a speaker, distant, _unreal_.  Unlike the couple by the bridge this one wasn’t mid-proposal, they were simply dancing, unaware of being envied by a gazing stranger just meters away. They also differed from the other couple in the sense that they were both men.

Blind joy enveloped them in a bubble of warmth and bliss, a sensation that, like a gust of wind, wafted across their surroundings; a gleaming wake that managed to halt the turning gears inside his ribcage.

A chestnut fell into the murky waters of the pond, a plop sound that broke the spell of the view and pulled him back to reality. His reality.

Under darkened skies he turned on his heel, and made haste for the nearest entry gate, eyes fixed on the cracks in the pavement, the snap of fallen twigs beneath his feet imperceptible to his ears now that a hollow hum had wormed its way inside his brain, white noise filling him to the brim.

Somewhere out there, choices had been made. Someone was being kissed for the very first time, someone else was saying goodbye to a failed lover, a couple was tumbling over a bed ready to have sex or make love, somewhere someone was falling in love with their best friend, and here he was. Putting one foot in front of the other, lost in thought, disregarding the rest of the world as his pace gained speed, not quite a race but definitely not languid _._ Walk, go, faster, get home, get away.

_Don’t think, don’t think, don’t see - him._

Him.

Him sitting on a lonely rock, staring ahead with vacant, unfocused eyes. Him looking so similar to the statues that ornamented every other cranny of the park, quiet and unmoving, a white puff of smoke escaping his lips.

“Credence?”

A sound - a name, _his_ name. He turned to stone in a matter of seconds, were it not for the wild rattling of his heart he would’ve thought himself sure to be carved out of rock.

“Are you…? Is everything okay?” – how he’d missed that voice, the gentle drag and mesh of sounds. He was shattered glass awkwardly put together, his cracks buzzing and thrumming.

“Yes” – he said, the word came out soft, too soft.

Graves eyed him warily, suspicion written in the dainty crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Not knowing what the protocol was in cases like this, Credence shuffled his feet, stealing a couple of glances at the other man, not really caring if he was caught looking.

The black iron rail was cool in his hands, and yet under his collar the temperature was rapidly increasing, a shiver ran down his spine. There wasn’t a trace of the sun in the sky now, only artificial lights illuminated the late-winter evening, fireflies floating amidst the trees.

The accordion still believed them to be in a romantic Parisian rue.

“I expected you to be in Dingle by now.” – he looked at Graves then, straight into his almond-shaped eyes, and all his limbs locked as if on cue. He was fascinated by the burning tail of the cigarette held between the man’s elegant fingers, unable to tear his gaze.

There was a tingle at the top of his cheeks, no doubt he was blushing like a schoolboy, but in the dimness they were in he was sure the innkeeper wouldn’t notice. Ashamed, he realized, he wanted _him_ to notice.

“Yeah, well. Figured there was no rush.”

Graves was different, not his usual bold self, not piercing Credence with dark, flirtatious eyes. It was as if he’d been scraped off, a certain rawness baring him only for Credence to see, and even if the shift within him was minimal, it rearranged whatever mask he’d been hiding behind. It was hard to tell where Graves started and where he ended, tangled like a rope of smirks and frowns and sugar-coated words and crisp bluntness, he’d become a mystery to Credence.

He wanted to shake the Irishman off. Wanted to throw him over the railing and into the pond, and board the first plane back to New York, forgetting a country named Ireland existed.

So maybe most of those thoughts were just too childish for him to even imagine, but only in a few hours he _would_ be inside an airplane, thousands of feet above the ground, staring out of a small window, body weary and anxious to be back in his city.

“Right.” – Credence gulped, his throat clasping around nothing – “Well, I have to go. My flight leaves early tomorrow, so… “

The best course of action would’ve been not talking to Graves in the first place, but as he was too startled for the smartest option, Credence was left with attempting to escape despite the plea in his own voice that subtly screamed at Graves to please ask him to stay, just a little longer.

Once again, he was wrong, for feeling the way he felt. He should be in the hotel room, not in this poorly-lit park, not gripping the iron like a lifeline, not wanting anything to do with _him_ , because honestly, this thing was doomed from the start. And now… now he was going to go back home, relearn what Graves had erased in him, etch on his skin what _should_ be, what his life was supposed to look like.

Upper West Side seemed light years away.

_I need to leave._

Debris from the cigarette fell to the ground, missing Graves’ foot by a couple of inches. The inaudible thud acted like a lever, setting the innkeeper back in motion, his demeanor as hesitant as before but bearing a touch of hastiness. Credence fancied himself a mouse slipping through the cat’s claws, the thought almost made him smile.

Graves tapped what remained of the cigarette on the rock without finesse, and promptly, comically got on his feet, assessing Credence with eyes veiled by darkness, a hand placed on the back of his neck. 

“Let me buy you a drink. Let’s, uh… toast.” – and there it was again, that delightful grin perched on his lips, that sent a mob of feral butterflies right into Credence’s gut.

“I don’t drink.”

His answer was short, harsh and completely false for the most part. He didn’t drink with men he was infatuated with, he didn’t drink when there were large chances of him committing a stupid, unchangeable mistake, and he most definitely didn’t drink when said man was Graves. It would be like stabbing the knife in one’s own leg.

Drinking had led him to the almost kiss.

Credence was very appreciative of his life at the moment, he didn’t need to topple down his own priorities for a man like Graves, wonderful and charming as he was.

“Oh. Really?” – said Graves, an eyebrow arched high, clearly recalling the unmentionable night – “Alright. I guess this is it then... Have a safe flight.” – he was moving, his steps drawing him away from Credence, digging an ocean between them. He was leaving him, _again_ , and this time it wasn’t because of an envelope full of money, it was just because. He was leaving and if he did then Credence wouldn’t see him again, perhaps never. It was dangerous to voice his thoughts, it was unwise and foolish too, but he couldn’t let Graves get away, the innkeeper had carved a niche inside Credence’s heart, and Credence… he’d be downright miserable if the regretful feeling of _what if_ took roots inside his bones, always wondering if he’d made the right choice, and –

“Coffee!” – he squealed with liquefied confidence. Graves turned sideways to look at him, _really look_ , and then he was smiling once more, but the gesture didn’t brighten up his face. In the shadows it resembled the grimace of a wounded person.

“Coffee?” – he echoed.

“Yes. I could do with a cup of coffee, if that’s okay with you.”

“It’d be my pleasure.” – he extended both palms, as if saying ‘after you’, and Credence hated himself for what that little gesture did to him.

They didn’t talk much, not until they reached a coffee vendor parked right outside the entry gate of the park. At Credence’s insistence they didn’t go to a coffeehouse, he’d do something stupid if enclosed with the man between four walls. So Graves ordered two cups of sizzling coffee, black for Credence and one cream with two sugars for him. The paper cup warmed Credence’s hands as they strolled down the sidewalk in amenable silence, and for the first time since arriving in Dublin Credence admired the city’s old charm. Every building seemed to be soaked in history even if it was only a hair salon, every corner held a secret, even the cobblestone laid at his feet retained an air of European allure. He was rediscovering Dublin, unearthing it from beneath dull resentment, seeing it as if through another pair of lenses, ones that made the colors stand out brighter and added a haze of comfort to the experience. It wasn’t New York, but it certainly emanated a wave of homeliness.

All it took was Graves.

Graves and a cup of strong black coffee were making him feel this way, planting once more the seed of doubt within him at the time he was being flooded by comfort.

His hotel was a short walk away, just crossing the street and then a five-minute ramble. Credence was starting to feel anxious, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Graves to address _that;_ all the while his senses stayed on edge, keen at the man’s every gesture. If Graves raised the cup up to his mouth and sipped his coffee, Credence’s grip tightened around his own cup. If Graves glanced at him from the corner of his eye, Credence pretended not to notice, trying to suppress a smile and ducking his head.

There was a lively mood brewing in the atmosphere, everyone seemed happy, strangers in the street smiling with crookedly and wide, eyes glinting in the semi-lit evening. There was a jumbled mess of voices combined with the honking of cars, the sliding of wheels against the roadway, a catchy tune playing in the background. Dublin was alive. Alive and thrilling, and Graves’ shoulder brushed against his, a single point of contact yet the axis of his turning world.

Would it be possible to walk closer to him? Would it be incorrect to give in, lock up his conscience and just... indulge?

“So… how did it go?”

There. The question he’d been fearing since he first saw Graves sitting on that rock.

They walked over to a side, away from the crowd. Credence feigned interest at the passerby, biding his time while Graves looked at him with unreserved intensity.

Credence entertained the idea of running to the hotel, escaping Graves’ curiosity even at the expense of his own dignity. But no, it wouldn’t do. This was an issue that needed to be tackled, tackled and burned and buried.

Of course he was too much of a coward to actually do that.

“Fine.” – evasion, not always usable but certainly useful.

Graves’ brows rose up to his hairline, he was leaning on the brick wall, cup of coffee stalled halfway to his lips. He nodded then, several times, eyelids shutting Credence out, keeping him from seeing whatever emotions were gushing inside of him. If there were any that is.

Nevertheless, there was displeasure in his features, quiet but latent. Credence was aware of the danger he was in, a bit of an overstatement, true. But words were applicable to one’s circumstances and for Credence this was the closest to danger he’d had been in quite a long time, an unsuccessful real estate deal didn’t actually count.

“What did he say?” – asked Graves, lashes dark and thick obscuring his gaze.

Credence’s throat went dry, his tongue heavy. God had squeezed him and left him without a single puff of breath in his lungs, asphyxiation by nervousness, by pathos. A cold had started to extend from the tip of his fingers to his hands, his arms, freezing the cavity of his chest, crawling up to his neck and clenching, clasping, mangling. His vision became blurry, he could feel a dampness gathering at the corner of his eyes and Graves, damn Irishman, seemed… _concerned_. And Credence detested him all the more for it, except he didn’t.

He never could.

_Please don’t say anything. Don’t ask. Please, don’t._

“Why isn’t he with you right now?” – Graves said softer, his voice a safety blanket – “Are you okay? Did he… did he say no?”

A heavy tear trickled down his cheek, his bottom lip was quivering, and through his congested mind thoughts of guilt and remorse and embarrassment mixed up in a self-pitying cocktail. Bottoms up.

He couldn’t look Graves straight in the eye. He was crying in a crowded street, he was cold and in dire need of human touch, and Graves was so maddeningly close. The man’s nose was reddened by the chill, his lips were a bit chapped, and then his hand was reaching out to him, thumb brushing away a fallen tear from his cheekbone, the touch so gentle Credence felt like melting in the winter night.

“No.” – he whispered after too long, finally having built up the courage to meet Graves’ stare.

He saw the swift bob of Graves’ Adam’s apple, the frown softening. Although he seemed out of his depth and shaken by his answer, he didn’t retract his hand from Credence’s face.

“No ‘you aren’t okay’, or no ‘he didn’t say no’?”

“Both.”

At that Graves’ hand did fall from his face, he recoiled from Credence as if he was a leper, as if touching him was forbidden and punishable by death.

“Then I don’t see why you wouldn’t be okay. You should be happy, darling.”

And just like that he was back to the Graves Credence had first met. Dazzling and handsome and confident, all packed together under a well-crafted façade. He could see it now, the ragged edges and slight cracks, he could see through it and into the Graves he’d come to know in such little time it seemed a lifetime away. He could see the hurt and the pain that still lingered even after fourteen years, the thin veil of solitude that shied him from others, the beauty of him, raw and caged. He was an overbearing man, yes, but he was absolutely beautiful. Credence never stood a chance.

Graves’ gaze was wandering, not landing on Credence for more than a ruptured second.

“Well, I better get going then. Wouldn’t want to ruin your engagement night.”

He bowed sarcastically, dismissing himself from Credence’s life in a much more light-hearted fashion than he’d sauntered in. He was still very much a mystery, and Credence ignored his true intentions, if he had any. Graves was still that innkeeper from Dingle who disliked Dublin and had been a breath away from kissing him silly in a guest room somewhere in Limerick, the same man that had carried him on his back under the cold rain, the one that had taken care of his sprained ankle, and actually _listened_ to him. He was attentive and standoffish and caring and Credence wanted him more than anything in the world, damn the consequences.

“He didn’t say no.” – he repeated, before Graves had taken a single step, grin frozen in his lips.

“Yes, you already said that.” – replied Graves, his voice devoid from all warmth, empty.

_Just say it._

“He didn’t say no because I never ask him.”

Tic toc, the imaginary ticking of a clock inside his head.

Tic toc, and then off it went.

“What?” – asked Graves, taking a step closer to Credence, invading his space with his viciously intoxicating presence.

“I didn’t propose.” – he whispered. The three words were a confession, carrying deeper meaning between their lines.

The night was growing colder and they’d been out in the street for what seemed like too long. Credence’s face was slowly turning to numbness as were his fingers, the tears on his cheeks dried by the breeze. A brief image of his warm, cozy suite flashed in his mind.

“Oh.”

Go big or home, that’s what everyone said, wasn’t it?

“Wanna go inside? It’s getting really cold out here.”

Truth be told, this was nothing compared to New York’s cruel wintertime, but the cold he was talking about wasn’t just the one biting at his skin. He was cold there where the eye could not see, he was feeling small and vulnerable, and frankly he wanted nothing more than be cradled in Graves’ warmth. Maybe this spare night was meant for impulsion and recklessness.

The ghost of Graves’ lips still hadn’t faded.

Graves hesitated only for an instant, and then he was nodding and following Credence into the fancy hotel, tension arising as they waited for the elevator to reach the fourth and last floor.

Once safely inside his suite a weight lifted off Credence’s shoulder, worry fading into the delicately patterned floors. He glanced at Graves then, who was taking in the refined elegance of the room with a glimmer in his gaze though no hint of smile on his lips. Credence noticed the brief moment in which the innkeeper’s eyes flickered towards the conjoined room where the bed was.

Sporting the same aloof expression Graves clicked his heels and said matter-of-factly – “Credence, I don’t think we’re in Dingle anymore.”

It wasn’t even funny, but the serious tone in which he said it, and the absurdity of the gesture made Credence giggle. He shook his head and narrowed his eyes in faux disapproval, the tension leaving his body and being replaced by a fuzzy feeling that was making him light in the head.

“Do you want to talk about it?” – asked Graves as he lowered his body to the plush cream couch.

No. He really, really didn’t want to.

It was humiliating enough to have Graves think he was an idiot for flying across the big blue ocean on a piteous quest to ensnare a man who, by the looks of it, didn’t give two flying fucks about him. Proposing on leap day, the belief behind the tradition, rang clear as daylight, irrational.

Credence scooped closer to Graves, their bodies didn’t touch, not by a single inch, but they might as well have. Credence felt Graves’ body, inadvertently, pulling him in. He stared at the man until his skin was blushing and blood throbbed furiously through his veins. Pheromones, Credence hoped, didn’t travel far.

The innkeeper had one arm draped over the back of the couch, and he didn’t retrieve it, not even when Credence dared move closer, if only a little bit, which… said nothing, really. Being a reserved person didn’t equate being a reserved lover, especially if one had the looks to get away with it. Credence kicked himself for having such thoughts, he was in no position to judge Graves for whatever minutiae his history of romantic entanglements entailed.

Was he not the one that had fallen in love with another man when he was planning to propose to his long-term boyfriend?

“Credence?” – his name echoed in the room as a hand came to rest above his knee, tentative, ready to pull back at the first negative.

“Uh… Right.” – it was better to get it over with. Credence cleared his throat and placed his hand atop Graves’, idly interlacing their fingers together, wishing the Earth would crack up and swallow him in one swift gulp. – “I realized Gellert wasn’t for me. And I wasn’t for him.”

Silence reigned in the suite, the loudest sounds were the heavy thumps inside his chest, the rapid flutter in his belly and the other-worldly ringing in his ear that seemed to dim the acuteness of his other senses. Even though he was touching Graves he couldn’t really _feel_ him, he was his own puppet-master, dangling all sense of self-preservation by thin strings.

“He took it well enough, the breakup. He said a realtor didn’t really contribute to his status as a cardiologist, or something like that. And he’s keeping the apartment, the new one. ‘ _It was nice having you around, angelface’._ Even tried to convince me to have sex one last time, but I said no. Not that you care about that, of course, but that’s probably too much information anyway. Sorry.” – He recoiled his hand from Graves’, tact rushing back into his limbs like electricity at the mention of sex.

At this rate there was only one way to get this feeling out of his system, this mad desire for Graves, this need to taste him and let him see how naïve and flawed and desperate he was.

The simple truth was Gellert’s easy dismissal hadn’t struck a single chord within Credence. Every word he uttered dully was a thankful relief, and the more Gellert talked the more he began siding with Tina, disgusted at himself for letting such an egotistical man put a leash on him. Perhaps Gellert had been gone from his life a long time ago, what remained was an empty carcass that slept in the same bed most nights. Holding on to the man had been a way of coping, perhaps, of dealing with his family’s rejection. He’d forcibly sliced a tiny space in the world where he _belonged_ , or rather a place that didn’t turn him out for being who he was. But in the end, the smarter part of him, the one he seldom listened to, had scratched the vile man off his heart without his consent, leaching away the feelings as if they were poison itself. Wounded and mended, he had come to Dublin bearing false hopes of building his life around a lie he’d been telling himself for too long.

The loss of more than a thousand days spent by Gellert’s side were nothing compared to the gut-wrenching pain of having had said goodbye to Graves in the hotel foyer.

He didn’t want to lose _him_.

If only he could have him for himself just for a little longer, just for the rest of the night.

The innkeeper’s hand rose from his knee to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear and suddenly the heat inside him was reaching dangerous heights, brazing his insides. He couldn’t help the tingle in his neck as Graves’ digits came in contact with it.

Inebriating as undiluted liquor, the savior his Ma had raved about for many years had a name and a face, and he was sitting right next to Credence, caressing the curve of his neck, smelling of caffeine and cigarettes.

They were trapped inside the same craving bubble from that night in Limerick, but now the longing was enhanced, it wrapped their bodies in a deadly embrace, seeped into the flesh as if injected with needles. Dublin, the fair city, was consumed by passion.

“Touch me.” – said Credence without much thought, instinctively.

There was an edge of coarseness to his words, an unwavering conviction proper of spoiled children. And that was exactly what he was, Credence realized.

There would be plenty of time for remorse and cringing at the memories once he was floating somewhere in the stratosphere, right now only Graves mattered.

Reading the man was easy, what with his pitch-black pupils boring holes in him, and the way his gaze seemed especially fond of Credence’s lips, not able to stray for more than a handful of seconds. It was good, that his attraction for Credence hadn’t died, else it’d be a hell of an awkward situation.

Graves leaned forward, a perfectly imitated version of that other night. The same urgency permeated the air, the ear-splitting silence that settled between them was hauling them nearer. The weight of Graves’ hand in the side of neck was keeping him in place, keeping him from leaping at the man and placating to his own desires.

“Is this okay?” – Graves asked, looking at him as if he was the most beautiful thing in the world. It crushed his heart.

Credence closed his eyes when Graves’ lips finally grazed his. He felt wrung out from within, growing weaker under his spell. He could not think straight, though that was unnecessary. Soon, all too soon, he parted his lips granting Graves’ the liberty of freely roaming his mouth with his tongue, running the skilled muscle over the seams of his mouth. Graves was doing the most work while Credence simply allowed him to press harder, dig deeper.

And then he was being pushed back against the cushions, Graves’ heavier frame looming above him in a precarious position. Ever the gentleman, Credence mused, Graves didn’t want to take anything Credence wasn’t ready to give.

But this was the thing, he wanted to give Graves everything.

_Unwise, foolish, stupid._

Credence didn’t care.

“Am I your rebound?” – asked Graves with a teasing smile, his breathing uneven and strained, and excited, could not conceal the trace of hesitation. Weighing his options, maybe. Considering if Credence was worth the trouble.

Credence rolled his eyes and mentally buried all sliver of hope that dared stir in his heart. If he was going to be a fool about this, at least he wouldn’t go in hoisting false expectations.

“No” – his hands went up to the back of Graves’ head, pulling him in, wanting to make him cave into another kiss. And Graves _did_ kiss him. He kissed Credence eagerly and with fierceness, abandoning his mouth after some minutes to profess even more passionate attentions to the sharp edge of his jaw and then down his neck, leaving a faint trail of spit and kisses and sucks in his wake.

He could live forever like this, torn between sweet pleasure and the hunger for more skin, more lips, more teeth, more everything.

Graves slid downward, finally pressing their bodies together, and even if there were too many layers of fabric between them, it was as glorious as gospel. Even more so.

The man rolled his hips experimentally, his hardened cock pressing against Credence’s own erection, and Credence gasped. He was drowning too fast, his underwear was wet from pre-cum, his heart racing hundreds of miles a minute.

“Are you using me to get back at your ex, darling?” – tried Graves again, voice coiling around Credence’s arousal, feeding his lust more efficiently than any erotic video ever could. Fuck, he hadn’t felt like this in so, so long. Graves was driving him into insanity. And he was more than okay with it.

Credence shook his head rather vehemently as he tried undoing the man’s pants, starving to feel his naked skin, wanting to get as close to Graves as he could. His mind was as murky as his skin was feverish. If the same backwards logic of proposing on leap day applied to asking someone for sex, then Graves would grant him his last wish before leaving Irish soil.

But then again, that tradition had proved to be as fake as the Easter bunny.

And sure enough, his suspicions weren’t unfounded.

Graves caught his hand as he struggled to unzip his pants. Everything seemed to stop in a heartbeat, Graves was looking down intently at him waiting for an answer to his question.

“Is that why you’re doing this?”

Credence huffed and hated him for the slice of a second. Why did he have to be a good person, why couldn’t he just take the things that were offered to him without asking _why_?

That the man was willing to stop if Credence was hurting only made him resent the situation further. Begging for a pity fuck was way, _way_ below Credence, but Graves made him reconsider, and _that_ was why he was dangerous. He had Credence wrapped around his little finger without even being aware, believing Credence only wanted him to fuck away the memory of his ex-boyfriend, blissfully ignorant of the mayhem of emotions that had surged in Credence’s heart _for him_.

At least telling the truth, in this case, also meant giving him an easy way out, an alleviation for his conscience.

“No, it’s not.” – he took a deep breath and cupped Graves’ face in his hands, staring at his lust-blown eyes, thumb stroking the shadow of his stubble. He could pretend this was it, that the man staring back loved him, that this was something they did every evening. Lying on the couch, being cheesy as can be, falling in love a little more every day. - “You are not a rebound, and I’m not trying to get back at Gellert. I… I broke up with him, didn’t I? I didn’t love him. He wasn’t what I wanted. Guess I was lying to myself all those years. But I want _you_.”

He’d barely finished talking when Graves was pouncing back on him, kissing him with rekindled energy, desperate and fervent and sucking out the air from his lungs, twisting him inside out and making quick work of disposing from his clothes. Credence followed suit.

The couch --bless five star hotels-- was ample enough for them to maneuver without falling down the edge.

The moans, the grunts, the feeling of soft leather beneath his back, the rhythmic sway of their hips and the nerve-wracking sensation of their cocks rubbing against each other, all of it, Credence wished he could sear into his memory, etch the whole night in the forefront of his mind for when he had to leave. He wanted Graves to be more than a memory, but if a memory was all he could be, then he wanted to remember him well.

Graves flicked his tongue around the pearled nub that was his nipple, nipping at it when Credence let out a whine. His smile was predatory.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that, Credence?”

Open palms were roaming down his chest, across the expanse of his belly and settling on the delicate jut of his hipbones, grounding him to the couch while Graves kneeled in the V of his legs. Credence stared at him from beneath heavy-lidded eyes, worrying his bottom lip in his teeth, impatient for Graves to make the next move.

_Please._

“You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, baby.” – groaned out the innkeeper with a raspy voice drenched in lust.

Credence’s toes couldn’t help but curling when Graves took him in his mouth. It was wet and warm and soft as velvet, and Credence couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on the receiving end. His mind was a gooey mess and he was burning, a thousand degrees hot.

He tried bucking up his hips but Graves had him fastened secure, pinned to the sofa by the strength of his hands. The man was putting his smart mouth to good use, teasing the shaft with gentle grip of his fist until Credence was shuddering, then sucking devotedly around the crown, making a panting and mewling mess out of him, and occasionally toying with his slit, only stopping when Credence tugged too hard at his hair.

“He didn’t deserve you, darling. You’re too good for him. Too good for anyone.” – his words were uttered with sheer devotion, like a creed.

Like he meant them.

A knot formed in Credence’s throat, choking him as desire and uneasiness coiled in his gut. Maybe he’d gotten it all wrong and Graves did like him, beyond physical attraction. Maybe, just maybe he felt the same way Credence did.

But nobody fell in love just like that. Love wasn’t a lightning strike.

He shut his eyes tight to avoid meeting Graves’ gaze lest he read the turmoil of emotions quarreling inside him.

 _Don’t expect anything from him. This can’t be_ love _._

Credence felt the gentle prodding of a finger against his opening and his legs went limp like Jell-O on a hot summer day. It didn’t take much after that, Graves’ spit-slicked digit kept massaging his entrance in tiny circular motions until the first knuckle was snug inside, curling inwards at the rim while the man’s mouth suckled relentlessly, hand alternating between rapid jerks and slow strokes.

Breathless and trembling, Credence came while Graves licked a straight line from his sack and along the underside of his cock to the throbbing head. The white hot release spilled out in spurts that coated his lower belly.

Shame, he would’ve preferred for Graves to drink him in.

“As pretty as you look in white, I believe I’ve earned my keep. Allow me.” – said Graves, and honestly, he was the most ridiculous man Credence had ever met. Ridiculous and adorable and irresistible, as evidenced by him licking the semen off Credence’s taut skin, moaning at the taste and glancing up at him with lust still shining bright in his eyes.

Credence never wanted the night to end.

“You taste so fucking good too.”

Just as he’d kiss his way down, Graves was now trailing his way up, sucking and licking at his flustered skin. His hair was messy from Credence’s grip on it, and that made him unbelievably giddy inside. He liked being the reason for Graves’ dishevelment.

Credence knew he was looking at Graves as if the man was the sun incarnate, knew that there was a sparkle in his eyes and his cheeks were glowing pink, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. It was a cruel punishment to have this and then have to leave it behind in a matter of hours. He could miss his flight, he could persuade Graves to stay with him in the hotel, indefinitely, having sex whenever they pleased and reveling in each other’s company. The man liked him beyond his looks, Credence knew. Or at least he tolerated him.

However, he had only accepted to take him to Dublin because he needed the money.

It was easy money.

_Don’t cry, it’ll only make you seem more pathetic. And needy. And dumb._

It wasn’t really the man’s fault. Credence was clingy by nature.

Graves was still hard. He propped himself with one hand while the other pumped his erection in quick, easy strokes, following an inconsistent pattern. His face was buried in the crook of Credence’s neck, and Credence could feel his breathing pulsing hot and heavy in the shell of his ear. He wrapped his hands around Graves’ torso, running his palms over his muscled back, fingers digging into the skin as reality hit him full-force and a familiar sting jabbed behind his eyes. He was prone to crying, but without doubt, this was the absolute worst time for his shameful habit to knock uninvited.

Either Graves was too immersed in his lust or he didn’t care, but Credence was letting out little whimpers that could easily be confused with sounds of pleasure, and in a way, they were. Except that they were polluted by dejection.

It’s not that he didn’t want to be alone, no.

It was that he wanted to be with Graves.

Graves groaned as he chased after his orgasm, hand pumping faster around his thick shaft, lips sucking sloppy kisses on Credence’s neck, face surrounded in the warmth of the angle. Credence felt pretty much useless, he wasn’t contributing to Graves’ pleasure and he was swallowing back pathetic sobs, eyes wet with unshed tears.

He would never be one for one night stands, not that he wanted to be.

“Please come for me.” – he whispered as he sensed the man’s climax creeping closer. He cradled the back of Graves’ head then, burying him in the hollow of his neck, running his fingers through the unkempt strands of hair. 

Two more strokes and Graves was coming in long ropes, between their bodies, panting as he fell loose over Credence, kissing his cheek with exhausted enthusiasm. And Credence, he could only hug the him tighter, and pray he wouldn’t notice something was wrong with him.

“That was – good. Great.” – said Graves catching his breath, absentmindedly stroking the curve of Credence’s lips with his thumb.

“It was.”

It was.

Credence hated that it was an action described in past tense.

“Can I keep you?” – asked Graves, propping himself on one elbow. And of course he noticed, that was the reason Credence liked him so terribly much. He noticed because he _cared_. – “Hey, no. What’s wrong, Credence?”

His eyes, previously overflowed by lust, were now heavily tinged with worry.

Telling him the truth would be an act of selfishness, but oh, he wanted Graves to know. Risking his pride was well worth it because, after all, who would know if it all went to shit – which was the most likely route anyway?

He was alone in a strange city, in love with a man he’d met only a few days ago - there was no harm in being honest. Which wasn’t true at all.

Because Graves was a good man and Credence didn’t want to burden him with his feelings. People didn’t like carrying emotional toil, especially if it wasn’t theirs to carry. He’d been taught well.

“Was it something I did? Do you want me to go?”

“No, no. Please don’t go. Not yet.”

_Not ever._

“Okay. I just - I need to clean this up.” – said Graves casually, gesturing at the sticky mess on both of them.

Credence was back to feeling too small and too goddamn young. He was breakable and Graves knew, but he didn’t seem to mind much.

“Come with me?” – asked Graves, extending a hand for Credence to take, possibly having sensed his distress at being left alone, if only for a minute.

If between the two of them there was one that was ‘too good’, it definitely wasn’t Credence, not by a long stretch.

They made for the bedroom, hands joined in an easy grip. Credence never wanted to let go, but the gesture was simply a pleasantry, and, most likely, not something Graves actually wanted. Friends with benefits didn’t hold hands, and they weren’t even friends.

He stayed perched on the side of the bed while Graves cleaned himself in the bathroom.

The running water from the sink helped him relax his breathing, and when Graves came out with a small wet towel in hand, Credence was mostly back to normal, though some wetness still clung to his lashes.

Silently Graves wiped away the mess from Credence’s skin, and he couldn’t stop himself from staring at the man with blunt adoration. He could easily lose himself in the graceful slant of his nose, the strong arch of his brows.

Once done Graves gestured for Credence to get beneath the covers as he did the same, and Credence obeyed without resisting. He’d do anything Graves asked of him.

Graves was staring down at him from his side of the bed, inspecting every little twitch with attentive eye.

“Come here.” – he said after a while.

Credence slid closer, breaching the gap between their bodies, and molded himself in Graves’ arms, both legs flanked by Graves’ own. The position was extremely intimate, all of him was engulfed in Graves’ musky scent and warmth, the smell of caffeine still lingered in his breath.

When he spoke his voice was gentle and soft –crooning--, a hand splayed over Credence’s cheek.

“Am I a horrible person if I say I’m glad you called off the engagement?”

Credence smiled even though hearing that made him hurt for many reasons he preferred pushing to the back of his mind. – “No.” – he breathed out.

Being embraced by Graves was the closest thing to paradise, he decided, as he wrapped his own arms around the man’s middle and pressed his ear to Graves’ chest, relishing in the beating of his heart.

“Don’t cry for him, darling. If he was stupid enough to let you go, then he’s not worth it.”

“I really don’t want to talk about him. Not right now.”

“Was my blowjob that lousy, then?” – Graves asked to lighten up the mood. Surely he was aware of his skills, and if not, then Credence’s multiple embarrassing whimpers should’ve been enough indicative. He continued seriously, - “You’re wonderful, Credence from New York, okay? You’re smart and sweet and so damn beautiful. God, I _really_ wish you didn’t have to go so soon.”

_In, out. In. Out._

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” – Credence’s smile seemed to spur him – “I’d take you with me back to Dingle. Give you the very best suite of the Caoilfhionn --mine, of course—we’d have to share. Wouldn’t be that bad, would it? Running the inn? What with your real estate stager experience, we could put this place to shame. You’d even get to have sex with me on a daily basis. It’d be grand.”

At his arrogance, Credence scrunched up his nose and Graves pinched it lightly, causing him to chuckle softly, a warm vibration rattling in his chest. -- “Who says I want to?”

“Well, _I_ certainly wouldn’t be opposed to it.” – he started kissing Credence again, fingers cinching Credence’s waist, then dropping to cup his softened member. – “I’d take such good care of you, darling. Kiss you every morning, make love to you every night. Would you like that, Credence? Would you like being mine?”

Graves had been lazily massaging his length as he spoke, and the words, as well as his hand, had had a certain effect on Credence. For one, he didn’t know where he stood with Graves right now, his heart was practically leaping out of his chest with each renewed breath, hope flaming and soaring within him faster than wildfire. The pounding of blood was roiling loudly beneath his flesh as it headed downwards to pool at his gut, rising him again to full length in such short time, which wasn’t common for him, at all. Sex was usually a one-round thing for him, and many times he didn’t even get to come once, not to mention twice.

“Judy and Donald would come visit, and we wouldn’t even have to pretend, my dear. The banging of the headboard against the wall, your sweet moans, your screams of pleasure as I thrust inside you would be enough to convince anyone; don’t you think?” – Credence could feel Graves’ hardness flush against the small of his back, and a contented sigh slipped past his lips. Graves bucked forward, thumb dragging over the tip of Credence’s weeping cock - “Fuck, Credence. What the _fuck_ did you do to me, baby? I want you so much.”

Credence gulped and intertwined their fingers together, the knot in his throat easing - “Do you mean it? All of it?”

“Yes, of course. I’m – I want you with me. I want you every day.” – his pace around Credence’s cock relented, giving him a chance to breathe, to think. – “Will you give me a chance to love you, Credence?”

Credence stared at Graves with parted lips, a whirlwind of confusion and pure delight wrestling against his ribs, a freaking tide of wild butterflies churning in his stomach. He was dizzy and lightheaded and the world was but a swirl of colors, Graves the only anchor keeping him from sinking in a sea of overwhelming emotions. He could be dreaming, but it all felt too real, and never in his remotest fantasies could he have come up with a more perfect moment.

“Could you do that? Love me, I mean?” – he was dumbstruck and dumbfounded, and was this really happening? He wasn’t used to having anyone, much less the man he was probably in love with, looking at him with such unashamed devotion.

Graves had adoration inscribed in his eyes. When they kissed the angle was awkward and not really comfortable, but the kiss was gentle and more meaningful than any of the others they’d shared. It felt definitive somehow, like a promise made under a rain of shooting stars, like whispering _I love you_ in the afterglow on a rainy afternoon.

“I think I already do.”

_Seven months later_  

Credence had been living in a studio for the past months, not because he couldn’t keep affording his old place, but because he didn’t like the ghost of Gellert staining his present from every corner like a shadow of doom. A studio had more than enough space for him anyway, and it was easier to take care of. Located on East Village it was a far cry from the more glamorous lifestyle of the Upper West Side, but he was happy. Besides he wouldn’t be living there for much longer.

From behind a pair of arms circled his waist, and light kisses were pecking at the back of his neck.

“You say you don’t like New York, but you’re always so excited when you come visit.” – said Credence, placing his hands on top of Graves’, who huffed at his words.

“It’s not _New York_ I get excited about, Credence. You should know that by now.” – replied the man in a gruff voice.

He could keep lying through his teeth all he wanted, Credence knew the Big Apple had warmed up to the Irishman. Everyone fell in love with New York sooner or later.

The sun was beginning its descent behind the row of roofs, the last remaining rays of sunlight filtering through the white curtains and beaming across the hardwood floors.

He turned slightly in Graves’ arms to face him better, fingers reaching for his chin. Graves smiled, and oh, that smile would be the death of him. It boiled him to the core, it made his insides shiver and his heart jump to his throat.

“Tina likes you. Says you’re the closest to deserving anyone ever will be. Her words, not mine.”

“Is that so?” – asked Graves nipping at his ear, his voice sensuous, his hands resting over his hips, pressing Credence flush against himself.

“Yes. She’s very protective of me. Haven’t even told her I’ll be moving to Ireland; she’ll probably try to kill you.” – Graves laughed against his shoulder, the sound muffed by the fabric of Credence’s shirt.

“Queenie however, is awfully convinced you’re going to ask me to marry you. Soon. But she was wrong the last time so I don’t think it’d be wise to believe her.”

Graves exhaled profusely, the gust of breath hitting Credence’s nape. And then Graves was unwrapping himself from Credence’s torso, turning him around and taking him by the hand, a delicate frown in his face, his eyes soft and open, like windows.

“That woman knows too much.” – he said with a displeased quirk of his lips, then he added – “How soon?”

“What?” – blurted out Credence.

Graves lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, Credence was starting to think marriage wasn’t something they were allowed to discuss yet. Perhaps it was too soon to make such light remarks. But then Graves was smiling up at him, with heartbreaking sweetness in his gaze, there was a light flush to his skin, and a wave of joy washed over Credence.

How had he gotten so lucky?

“I was gonna wait until tonight --candlelit dinner and all that--, but _someone_ let the cat out of the bag so I guess there’s no sense in waiting.”

And then Graves, that insufferably cocky, loving Irishman was getting down on one knee and producing a small red velvet box from the pocket of his jacket, and inside – inside was a ring, a real engagement ring, and Credence had forgotten what breathing was, mouth ajar, gaze flickering from the little gold band to Graves’ face, and then back again. Stunned and elated, he was truly as a loss for words.

Graves’ grinned at having rendered him speechless and shocked, but it was his turn to speak, and when he did, the words filled Credence with blistering, devastating joy,

“Credence… Baby, will you marry me?”

His voice broke around the single word – “Yes.”

It was the middle of October and the leaves were changing to hues of red and orange and brown, and it was an ordinary like any other. But it was perfect, because he was madly in love with the man knelt before him and he was loved back just as much, and he couldn’t really ask for a more perfect gift. The golden ring around his finger would just be a reminder of how lucky he already was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys so much for all the amazing feedback, i'll go cry in a corner bc i have to leave now :(  
> also let me know your thoughts and feelings on this one bc i'm greedy like that<333

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr: [ elvishflower ](http://elvishflower.tumblr.com/)


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